DEDICATORY SONNET.
Ad Amicos.
How lone and languid were life's weary way,
Measur'd by faint steps, and by dim eyes trac'd,
Did not Affection now and then display
A spot of beauty 'mid a flowerless waste.
How would the soul unsatisfied, and cold,
Pine all unconscious of its secret powers,
Those powers did fostering Friendship ne'er unfold,
Nor ward with fond attempt each storm that lowers.
To You then, of the firm, tho' little band
Of those I love!—who sweetly have endear'd
Some moments far too fleeting, and have fann'd
The trembling flame of virtue, who have rear'd
That secret worth that heeds nor blame nor praise—
To You I consecrate these random lays.
