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DEDICATORY SONNET.
To Thee, dear Angel of my cherished home,Thou fair Ideal of my youth's delight,
Whose all-embracing love, serene and bright,
Circles my being, as the heavenly dome
Encircles earth, I dedicate these lays,
My Fancy's first, weak offerings; to thy heart,
O! gentle Critic, shall thy Poet turn,
Should colder Censors shut the gate of praise,
Where, when his golden hopes have ceased to burn,
And high Ambitions one by one depart,
He knows the Solace, and the balm repose,
To heal life's deepest wounds, and leave him—blest;
For shrinèd there, th' exhaustless fountain flows
Of that grand faith, whose gift is—perfect rest.
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