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Updated: May 13, 2025
We welcome thee back to the land where thy name, In boyhood we lisp'd, and in manhood revere; Tho' we bind not thy brows with the chaplet of fame, Accept, beloved guest, a warm tribute a tear! Yes a tear of affection which starts to the eye, When tracing thy storm-beaten pathway through life; That thy principles pure could ambition defy, Thy humanity prompt thee to stay the fierce strife.
Nor can I, like that fluent sweet-tongu'd Greek, Who lisp'd at first, in future times speak plain By Art he gladly found what he did seek A full requital of his, striving pain Art can do much, but this maxima's most sure A weak or wounded brain admits no cure.
In thee we behold not the chieftain whose sword Delighting in bloodshed is ever unsheath'd; But the friend of mankind, whose mild actions afford A proof that his lips no hypocrisy breath'd. Then welcome once more to the land where thy name In boyhood we lisp'd, and in manhood revere; Tho' we twine not thy brows with the war-wreath of fame, Accept, beloved guest, a warm tribute A TEAR.
He says of himself with something of pompousness, "I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came." *Edmund Smith. Pope's keenest desire was to be a poet, and few poets have rushed so quickly into fame. He received few of the buffets which young authors have as a rule to bear.
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