Sonnet. to the Muse

Caelestial spirit! who dost deign to shed Thy mystic visions o'er my raptur'd soul, And with thy tuneful numbers dost control The horrid cares which haunt my lonely bed; Come!—fill my lab'ring breast with sacred fire; Such fire as glow'd in PETRARCH's tender line, When Love, and heav'nly LAURA's charms divine, Claim'd the soft sorrows of his gentle Lyre. —O grant my pray'r! and fair MELISSA's fame, Shall rival LAURA's in the roll of Time; Her virtues shall be known in ev'ry clime, And Bards unborn shall quote her Poet's name!

Blest, who deserve the meed the MUSE can give, For whom she favours will for ever live.