The lord of those etherial domains, Once wing-maimed, pitiless fate to the dull earth enchains.

With Thomson, now, o'er sylvan scenes we stray, Or seek the lone church-yard, with pensive Gray: On Pope's refin'd, or Dryden's lofty strains, Dwell, while their fire the lightest heart enchains.

Then could I wake a thrilling strain That would with mystic power enchain, But now, alas!