Where bloated pride, in sullen majesty,
And drowsy pomp sits notionally great,
While she on every stranger shuts her gate.
Let ingenuity here keep her seat,
For works minute, or works immensely great,
We to thy native sons the gift impart,
Of bright invention, and of matchless art,
Skill'd to devise, to reason, to compute,
Quick to suggest, and prompt to execute;
What some have but conceiv'd, do thou amend,
Mature and perfect, to some noble end.
Let fertile genius' bright, inventive powers,
In all their vigorous energy be yours.
Let savage nations who thy stores behold,
Give Britain in return, their useless gold,
Their gems, their pearls, their diamonds impart,
And boast the change, and prize the gift of art.
Thus shall thy polish'd wares of choicer worth,
Gain all that's rare, from ev'ry clime on earth.
Thy skill superior let our monarchs own,
And deem thee _a bright jewel in their crown_.
OBSERVATIONS
Made during an Excursion
_To Wednesbury in Staffordshire, distant eight miles, on the road to
Wolverhampton and Shrewsbury_.
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