The Duty Of A Poet Poem by Henry Baker

To Follow Nature wheresoe'er she leads,
Through Courts or Camps, o'er Hills or flow'ry Meads,
To picture all things as they really are,
Vice dark and loathsom, Virtue bright and fair,
Becomes the Poet: --Him the Gods have giv'n
A Soul divine, ally'd to them and Heav'n.

Great is his Pow'r:--to keep the Rolls of Fame,
To give an honour'd, or an hated Name,
Immortal Glory, or eternal Shame.

O! may He well discharge this sacred Trust!
Wise to distinguish, obstinately just:
May He crown Virtue wheresoe'er it dwells,
Despis'd, esteem'd, in Palaces, or Cells;
On Vice triumphant may his Rage be shown,
And make it tremble tho' it mounts a Throne:
May Hopes nor Fears his gen'rous Soul pervert
Born Judge o'er all Mankind--
Unmov'd may He his native Rights assert.
Passion nor Prejudice his Steps misguide,
Nor Greatness tempt him from the juster Side:
For injur'd Innocence may He be bold,
Nor meanly stoop to barter Truth for Gold.
May He stand firmly in his Country's Cause,
A Bulwark for her Liberties and Laws;
The Traytor damn to everlasting Shame,
But crown the Patriot with eternal Fame:
Him may He raise to such a glorious Height,
That all Mankind transported at the sight,
Virtue's celestial Beauties may admire,
And each Soul glow with emulating Fire.