 | Poems |  |
9
SONNET.
In vain the bard will ride on wings of fire,And glowing fancy guide his flaming path,
In vain he wields the sabre of his wrath,
If lovely truth cannot a ray inspire;
The meteor dazzles in its gleaming ire,
And crimson havoc flies upon its trail,
But beauty smiles, and bids the planet hail!
That glows, but lights not vestal nature's pyre.
The bard may stand, like Nero, o'er the flame
That wrapt in ocean-blaze imperial Rome,
And strike his lyre to yelling myriads' doom,
But virtue, honour, execrate his name.
Though others stand on towering Helicon,
And flush in glorious lyric victory,
Religion, virtue, truth, are paths for me,
Though a vile molehill be the fane that's won.
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