 | The heir of the world, and lesser poems |  |
SONNET IV.
TO F. G. H. ESQ.
Welcome as Shrovetide to the serf of old,Or blith Thanksgiving to New England youth,
Or legends of hoar eld, oft sworn as truth,
Of peerless dames and knights and barons bold,
Is the glad music of thy high soul'd strain,
Too seldom heard, but ever heard with joy,
Like the Oread's song beneath the rosy sky,
On the lone outskirts of the bosky plain.
Or joy or grief, with thee it fills the heart,
And in it rests as its peculiar home;
And to or ancient Time or years to come
Thy Genius ever doth romance impart.
I can but wish me, “one more rich in hope,”
To catch the spirit of thy magic scope.
| The heir of the world, and lesser poems | |