His warfare is within.--There unfatigued His fervent spirit labours.--There he fights, And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself, And never-withering wreaths, compared with which The laurels that a Caesar reaps are weeds You would smile to hear the insect of a day pay the tribute of its praise to the lasting oak which aided its first feeble soaring--Smile then;--for a person whom nature, fortune, and inclination, alike, have marked for obscurity, one whose very name may never reach your ear, offers this tribute of respect to the author of PLAYS on the PASSIONS.…
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