After Reading Some Ungenerous Criticisms

What though thy Muse the singer's art essay
With lip now over-loud, now over-low?
'T is but the augury that makes her so
Of the high things she hath in charge to say.
How shall the giantess of gold and clay,
Girt with two oceans, crown'd with Arctic snow,
Sandall'd with shining seas of Mexico,
Be par'd to trim proportion in a day?

Thou art too great! Thy million-billow'd surge
Of life bewilders speech, as shoreless sea
Confounds the ranging eye from verge to verge
With mazy strife or smooth immensity.
Not soon or easily shall thence emerge
A Homer or a Shakespeare worthy thee.