Oh Could My Mind, Unfolded In My Page, Enlighten Climes And Mould A Future Age; There As It Glow'D, With Noblest Frenzy Fraught, Dispense The Treasures Of Exalted Thought; To Virtue Wake The Pulses Of The Heart, And Bid The Tear Of Emulation Start! Oh Could It Still, Thro' Each Succeeding Year, My Life, My Manners, And My Name Endear; And, When The Poet Sleeps In Silent Dust, Still Hold Communion With The Wise And Just!-- Yet Should This Verse, My Leisure'S Best Resource, When Thro' The World It Steals Its Secret Course, Revive But Once A Generous Wish Supprest, Chase But A Sigh, Or Charm A Care To Rest; In One Good Deed A Fleeting Hour Employ, Or Flush One Faded Cheek With Honest Joy; Blest Were My Lines, Tho' Limited Their Sphere, Tho' Short Their Date, As His Who Trac'D Them Here.