 | The triumph of music |  |
SONNET.
TO thee, Redeemer of a ruin'd race!
Grateful to thee, thou best of guides! I bend,
Infirmity's support! and sorrow's friend!
Still in these deep afflictions, that efface
Joy's vital beam, and hope's all-chearing trace,
I trust thy mercy will my mind defend
From the worst ills, that o'er weak age impend,
Distrust! and apathy the heart's disgrace!
Grateful to thee, thou best of guides! I bend,
Infirmity's support! and sorrow's friend!
Still in these deep afflictions, that efface
Joy's vital beam, and hope's all-chearing trace,
I trust thy mercy will my mind defend
From the worst ills, that o'er weak age impend,
Distrust! and apathy the heart's disgrace!
87
Tho' long immers'd in grief's severest gloom,
Whose gather'd clouds o'er all my prospect roll,
I am requir'd, by Heaven's supreme controul,
To yield my darling to an early tomb,
Still let thy word, my darken'd life illume!
And quiet anguish sanctify my soul!
Whose gather'd clouds o'er all my prospect roll,
I am requir'd, by Heaven's supreme controul,
To yield my darling to an early tomb,
Still let thy word, my darken'd life illume!
And quiet anguish sanctify my soul!
Manfredi.
| The triumph of music | |