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SONNET X. TO THE SAME.
Sound teachers are there of religion pure,And unimpeach'd morality; grave men,
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And preach and publish doctrine safe and sure;
And many such, I ween, can ill endure
The eagle glance of thy far-piercing ken,
But almost deem thee from some Stygian den
Of monstrous error sprung,—obscene,—obscure.
Well! they may rail till they have rail'd their fill;
Only let me, by such sweet poison fed,
Drink from thy clear and ever flowing rill
Refreshment and support for heart and head;
Oft disagreeing, but extracting still
More food from stones of thine than such men's bread.
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