SONNET XVIII. TO MR. ROBERT CARLILE.
Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Gray.
Accept, O youthful Bard! the humble lays
Of one who'd fain thy modest worth proclaim:
Could I in tuneful numbers sing thy praise,
My soaring muse should tell the world thy fame.
Hail, Nature's child! (whom Learning's sons admire)
She taught thee how to paint each scene with art
;
She taught thee how to tune th'harmonious lyre,
And strike the finest feelings of the heart.
Like thee, I've seen the tender budding rose
Hiding its sweetness from refreshing show'rs,
Blushing its infant beauties to expose,
Till ripen'd age call'd forth its op'ning pow'rs:
Then may thy genius like a rose burst forth,
And Britain boast thy name among her sons of worth.
