University of Virginia Library


175

SONNET.

[WRITTEN AFTER SEEING MR. MACREADY IN ROB ROY.]

Macready, thou hast pleas'd me much: 'till now
(And yet I would not thy fine powers arraign)
I did not think thou hadst that livelier vein,
Nor that clear open spirit upon thy brow.
Come, I will crown thee with a poet's bough:
Mine is an humble branch, yet not in vain
Giv'n, if the few I sing shall not disdain
To wear the little wreaths that I bestow.
There is a buoyant air, a passionate tone
That breathes about thee, and lights up thine eye
With fire and freedom: it becomes thee well.
It is the bursting of a good seed, sown
Beneath a cold and artificial sky:
'Tis genius overmastering its spell.