On Gesner's Idyls

Gesner, to Sicily he does no wrong
Who listens fondly to thy pastoral song.
The Muses, nurst by Nature, bow'd the head
And sigh'd in silence when thy spirit fled.
Homer's sole rival, Mincio's youthful swain
To catch Sicilian tones essay'd in vain.
None dared take up the broken pipe, for none
Among the wistful claim'd it as his own.
A sunny clime call'd.many a piper forth.
But only thy strong pinion braved the north.