SONNETS. TO CAPEL LOFFT, ESQ. LOFFT, unto thee one tributary song The simple Muse, admiring, fain would bring; Thy warm philanthropy, thy justice mild, Would say how sweetly thou could'st sweep the lyre, And shew thy labours for the public weal, Ten thousand virtues tell with joys supreme, But ah! she shrinks abash'd before the arduous theme. TO THE MOON. WRITTEN IN NOVEMBER. SUBLIME, emerging from the misty verge WRITTEN AT THE GRAVE OF A FRIEND. FAST from the West the fading day-streaks fly, And o'er my friend still pour the plaintive lay. The busy world pursues its boisterous way, Yet still I weep o'er thy deserted mound. And 'neath the green-sward sleep the sleep of peace. |