 | Poems upon various subjects |  |
95
SONNET.
[ONCE more, my Hawkins, I attempt to raise]
ONCE more, my Hawkins, I attempt to raise
My feeble voice to urge the tuneful song
Of that sweet Muse, which to her Country's wrong
Or sleeps, or only wakes to Latian lays.
My feeble voice to urge the tuneful song
Of that sweet Muse, which to her Country's wrong
Or sleeps, or only wakes to Latian lays.
Great is the Merit, well-deserv'd the praise
Of that last Work, where Reasoning just and strong
In charming verse thy name shall bear along
To learned foreigners, and future days:
Of that last Work, where Reasoning just and strong
In charming verse thy name shall bear along
To learned foreigners, and future days:
Yet do not thou thy native language scorn,
In which great Shakespear, Spenser, Milton sang
Such strains as may with Greek, or Roman vie:
This cultivate, raise, polish, and adorn;
So each fair Maid shall on thy numbers hang,
And every Briton bless thy melody.
In which great Shakespear, Spenser, Milton sang
Such strains as may with Greek, or Roman vie:
This cultivate, raise, polish, and adorn;
So each fair Maid shall on thy numbers hang,
And every Briton bless thy melody.
Thomas Edwards.
| Poems upon various subjects | |