SONNET ΤΟ THE MUSE. O, thou, in every form by Fancy drawn, I saw thee distant, even in infant years, When Life's sad morn commenc'd in clouds and tears; When sorrow's tide o'erwhelm'd parental worth, And stern Affliction press'd us to the earth. To thee 'twas given, to bring the lyre the lay, Still bring celestial guest, thy hours of glee, A And more, to me, the morning brings, What though Riot's torches gay, And Dissipation's vot'ries laugh, Awhile defy intruding Care: With maniac roar, as down they quaff, The draught that gives the sick'ning stare. What is it? but the transient bliss, That brings the worse than serpent hiss ; Reflection's heart-corroding train, And all the sequent host of Penury and Pain. To thee unknown the noisy joy, "Tis thine to comfort, not to cloy, "Tis thine to cherish, not destroy : The honey'd stream is thine that flows without a sting. Dear Fair, through Life's uneven day, (A thorny path by ills o'erspread) "Twas thine to clear its tangl'd way, And plant the placid Primrose in their stead. And though to cheer Depression's child, To thee blest Temperance I bend, * A perusal of the lives of our cotemporary and humbly-born Bards-Burns, Dermody, and Bloomfield. A tuneful trio composed of natives of each of the United Kingdons, will explain Without thy guiding precepts plain, Without thy smile the sweetest strain, The Muse's hallow'd voice had all been vain ; Cling source of blessings closer to my heart, And never, never, while on earth depart. this allusion to these truly noble, and beneficent characters-Patrons of their Compatriot Poets. |