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GONE are those unblest times, when niggard Fame Allow'd to few the Poet's sacred name;When Genius, trembling with unmanly fear, Claim'd not the wreath, which he deserv'd to wear, Till nine long years[1] had lent their tedious aid, To touch the forms his magic hand pourtray'd;
- ↑ The time prescribed by Horace for suppressing a composition for the purpose of improvement, is somewhat abridged by Vida; but, according to the latter, it is at least three years.Tuque adeo vitæ usque memor brevioris, ubi annosPost aliquot (neque enim numerum, neque tempora ponoCerta tibi) addideris decoris satis atque nitoris;Rumpe moras, opus ingentem dimitte per orbemPerque manus, perque ora virúm, permitte vagari.Poet. lib. iii, 520.
