On Hearing Him Mispraised

Because thou hast believed, the wheels of life Stand never idle, but go always round; Not by their hands, who vex the patient ground, Moved only; but by genius, in the strife

Of all its chafing torrents after thaw, Urged; and to feed whose movement, spinning sand, The feeble sons of pleasure set their hand; And, in this vision of the general law,

Hast labour'd, but with purpose; hast become Laborious, persevering, serious, firm-- For this, thy track, across the fretful foam

Of vehement actions without scope or term, Call'd history, keeps a splendour; due to wit, Which saw one clue to life, and follow'd it.