James Beattie

Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale,
And sing enamour'd of the nut-brown maid.

Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale,
And sing enamour'd of the nut-brown maid.

'Twas thus by the glare of false science betray'd,
That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind.

'Twas thus by the glare of false science betray'd,
That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind.

Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar!

Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar!

Let those deplore their doom,
Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn:
But lofty souls, who read more

Let those deplore their doom,
Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn:
But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb,
Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn.

I dare not hope to please a Cinna's ear.
Or sing what Varus might vouchsafe to hear;
read more

I dare not hope to please a Cinna's ear.
Or sing what Varus might vouchsafe to hear;
Harsh are the sweetest lays that I can bring,
So screams a goose where swans melodious sing.