To A Patriotic Gentleman Who Presented A Small Book Of Bark

On the smooth papyrus of ancient times,
Nature's bright charms, I'd paint in simple rhymes;
The bliss superiour of those happy days,
When on the bark the bard inscrib'd his lays;
But, when immers'd amidst ten thousand cares,
Domestic duties, and some foreign fears;
When avocations of the social kind,
Engross the heart, and fill the busy mind,
Pegasus often does his aid refuse,
And sentiment will not asiist the muse.

Thus circumstanc'd, I'll not indulge the pride,
To pick one flower from Parnassus side;
Much less attempt its summit to explore,
Though much I love Scamander's rippling shore;
I'll check my wish, and drop my humble wing,
Pleas'd with the laurels that for others spring:
Yet snatch a moment, when my friends command,
And point the period with a willing hand;
And if the lagging numbers slowly move,
I'll hope a pardon from the voice of love.
Critics may censure, but if candour frowns,
I'll quit the pen, and keep within the bounds,
The narrow bounds, prescrib'd to female life,
The gentle mistress, and the prudent wife:
Maternal precepts, drawn from sacred truth,
Shall warm the bosom of the list'ning youth;
While the kind mother acts her little part,
And stamps the tablet on the infant heart,
Each servent wish, I to my country lend,
And thus subscribe, the patriot's faithful friend.