Sonnet to John Sargent, Esq.

AWAY with diffidence and modest fear,
Thou happy sav'rite of Castalia's quire!
Withhold no longer from the public ear
The rich delight thy varied lays inspire!
Nor from the press with trembling awe retire!
That dread essay is dangerous alone,
When mimic dross adulterates the lyre:
Thine is of purest gold—its perfect tone
The fancy and the heart alike obey:
Invention's self has made her MINE thy own;
Give its new gems to blaze in open day,
And seat that bounteous queen on Glory's throne.
A brother bard, if he may boast the name,
Sounds with proud joy this prelude to thy fame.