To James Boswell

O Boswell, Bozzy, Bruce, whate'er thy name, Thou mighty shark for anecdote and fame; Thou jackal, leading lion Johnson forth To eat Macpherson midst his native north; To frighten grave professors with his roar, And shake the Hebrides from shore to shore, All hail! Triumphant thou through Time's vast gulf shall sail, The pilot of our literary whale; Close to the classic Rambler shalt thou cling, Close as a supple courtier to a king; Fate shall not shake thee off with all its power; Stuck like a bat to some old ivied tower. Nay, though thy Johnson ne'er had bless'd thy eyes, Paoli's deeds had raised thee to the skies: Yes, his broad wing had raised thee, (no bad hack,) A Tom-tit twittering on an eagle's back.