University of Virginia Library


302

SONNET XXII.

To the Author of Clarissa.
O master of the heart, whose magic skill
The close recesses of the Soul can find,
Can rouse, becalm, and terrifie the mind,
Now melt with pity, now with anguish thrill,
Thy moral page while virtuous precepts fill,
Warm from the heart, to mend the Age design'd,
Wit, strength, truth, decency are all conjoin'd
To lead our Youth to Good, and guard from Ill:
O long enjoy, what thou so well hast won,
The grateful tribute of each honest heart
Sincere, nor hackney'd in the ways of men;
At each distressful stroke their true tears run,
And Nature, unsophisticate by Art,
Owns and applauds the labors of thy pen.