Lines To A Pedantic Critic

Critic! should I vouchsafe to learn of thee, Correct, no doubt, but cold my strains would be: Now, cold correctness!—I despise the name; Is that a passport through the gates of fame? Thy pedant rules with care I studied once; Was I made wiser, or a greater dunce? Hence, Critic, hence! I'll study them no more; My eyes are open'd, and the folly's o'er. When Genius opes the floodgates of the soul, Fancy's outbursting tides impetuous roll, Onward they rush with unresisted sway, } Sweeping fools, pedants, critics, all away } Who would with obstacles their progress stay. } As mighty Ocean bids his waves comply With the great luminaries of the sky, So Genius, to direct his course aright, Owns but one guide, the inspiring God of light.