Page:Vida's Art of Poetry.djvu/41

 And oft' meermere [sic] chance shall images display, That strike his mind engag'd a different way. Still he persists; regrets no toil nor pain, And still the task, he tri'd before in vain, Plies with unweari'd diligence again. For oft' unmanageable thoughts appear, That mock his labour and delude his care; Th' impatient bard, with all his nerves appli'd, Tries all the avenues on every side; Resolv'd and bent the precipice to gain; Tho' yet he labours at the rock in vain; By his own strength and heav'n, with conquest grac'd, He wins th' important victory at last; Stretch'd by his hands the vanquisht monster lies, And the proud triumph lifts him to the skies. But when ev'n chance and all his efforts fail, Nor toils, nor vigilance, nor cares prevail; His past attempts in vain the boy renews, And waits the softer seasons of the muse; He quits his work; throws by his fond desires, And from his task reluctantly retires.