Chapter MDCCC

A sonnet has come to my hands, the production,--and nearly the first poetical Production,--of a very young Lady. I have not the Author's consent to publish it: and there is no time to ask it. But I cannot omit adding such a flower to the Wreath of Glory of my Friend. I have therefore ventured to publish it without waiting permission; with one or two slight alterations.

C. L.

25 Aug. 1800.

TO THE AUTHOR OF THE FARMER'S BOY.

I.

_If wealth, if honour, at command were mine,
And every boast Ambition could desire,
The pompous Gifts, sweet Bard, I would resign
For the aft Music of thy tuneful Lyre,_

II.

_Which speaks the soul awake to every charm
That Nature open'd from thy humble cot:
Speaks powers chill Indigence could not disarm;
Proof to Humanity's severest lot._

III.

_Thou Friend to Nature, and of Man the Friend; Of every generous and benignant cause; The accents of thy glowing worth, unfeign'd, Live in the cadence of each feeling pause. Here thought, alternate, in the noble Plan Admires the POET, and reveres the Man._

25 Aug. 1800.