Fair are those hills where sacred laurels grow,
Rul'd by the pow'r who draws the golden bow;
But see how few attain the dang'rous road,
How few are born to feel th' inspiring god!
Yet all, to reach the arduous summit try,
From soaring Pope to reptile Ogleby.
Among the rest, your friend attempts to climb,
But ah, how diff'rent poesy and rhyme!