 | Marcella |  |
SONNET.
BLEST Authors! with whose fame the world has rung,Immortal minds, of philanthropic mold!
Pathetic Richardson! sublimer Young!
To you let me inscribe the leaves, that hold
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Fairer its fortune, had not death's despite
Torn from the silenc'd bard this tale half-told!
O could I blend those beams, whose sep'rate light
Forms each a glory round your rival brows,
Sublimity and Pathos! effluence bright
Of highest genius!—but in vain such vows:
Yet in the reach of emulation's flight
One eminence ye share:—be that my end!
Teach me to rank with you, as Virtue's friend!
| Marcella | |