Humanity'S Bright Image To Impair. Scorn Laid Thee Prostrate In The Deepest Dust; Wit Wages Ceaseless War On All That's Fair, In Angel And In God It Puts No Trust; The Bosom'S Treasures It Would Make Its Prey, Besieges Fancy, Dims E'En Faith'S Pure Ray. Yet Issuing Like Thyself From Humble Line, Like Thee A Gentle Shepherdess Is She Sweet Poesy Affords Her Rights Divine, And To The Stars Eternal Soars With Thee. Around Thy Brow A Glory She Hath Thrown; The Heart 'Twas Formed Thee, Ever Thou'Lt Live On! The World Delights Whate'Er Is Bright To Stain, And In The Dust To Lay The Glorious Low; Yet Fear Not! Noble Bosoms Still Remain, That For The Lofty, For The Radiant Glow Let Momus Serve To Fill The Booth With Mirth; A Nobler Mind Loves Forms Of Nobler Worth.