SONNET.

Ye whose aspirings court the muse of lays, "Severest of those orders which belong, Distinct and separate, to Delphic song," Why shun the sonnet's undulating maze? And why its name, boast of Petrarchian days, Assume, its rules disown'd? whom from the throng The muse selects, their ear the charm obeys Of its full harmony:—they fear to wrong The sonnet, by adorning with a name Of that distinguish'd import, lays, though sweet, Yet not in magic texture taught to meet Of that so varied and peculiar frame. O think! to vindicate its genuine praise Those it beseems, whose lyre a favouring impulse sways.