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TO MISS SHARP, ON THE SAME OCCASION.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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TO MISS SHARP, ON THE SAME OCCASION.

Though Billington, in Music's pride,
Sat like Apollo's radiant Bride,
Apollo—God of Harmony,
Of Light, and Sacred Poesy—
Like him, unrivall'd in his rays,
Though She her sov'reignty displays,
And lesser Planets, in their sphere,
Shorn of their wonted beams appear:

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Yet, 'mid the blaze, thy milder shine,
Sweet Maid! proclaims thy gift divine.
Still in thy orbit art thou seen
“A gem of purest ray serene,”
Like some New Stranger of the Skies,
That doth in modest lustre rise;
A beauteous Star, just travell'd into sight,
Which in its lucid course shall gain upon the light.