 | Poetical remains (1872) |  |
Sonnet.
[Pulteney! the fourth young Spring now clothes the earth]
Pulteney! the fourth young Spring now clothes the earth,Since my rude muse with laureate wreaths essayed
To deck the sacred spot where he is laid,
Who formed my genius, and who gave me birth.
Yet o'er my gayest hours of social mirth
Oft still his absence casts a sadd'ning shade:
Oft still to him my secret tears are paid,
While memory fondly dwells upon his worth.
78
By many an act of gen'rous kindness won,
This page I mark, O Pulteney! with thy name:
Happy, if so I draw thee to approve
The pious gratitude which warms the son,
Howe'er thy nicer taste the poet blame.
| Poetical remains (1872) | |