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On his poetical inclinations by J. F. Bryant a Tobacco [[underline]] pipe maker [[/underline]] Oft tho' by poverty's cold hand opprest I've felt the charm, that warms the poets breast Oft as the leisure hour, indulg'd my rage To turn the borrow'd Volumes magick page, Where some choice favourite of the inspiring nine Immortal lives, in each immortal line, As oft by daring emulation fir'd Invok'd the muse, and felt myself inspir'd ... But e'er quick fancy snatch'd the heaven born strain By misery seiz'd, I sunk depress'd again -- Still lur'd by hope, my wounded genius tries On sacred inspirations wings to rise Eager to brave the critic's damning frown But fate soon brings the wretched [[unclear]] down Doom'd by diurnal toil, and sordid care To rub thro' life, and earn my scanty fare
