Sonnet to Dr. Lettsom

SWEET POPE, how would thy ardent bosom glow,
Didst thou remain, to sing a HOWARD's praise!
How tender would thy plaintive numbers flow!
The glorious theme would elevate thy lays.

But LETTSOM lives to see his Statue rise,
Who, sympathizing, feels for HOWARD's flame;
And deems Humanity the darling prize,
Which must to ages consecrate their fame.

Pathetic LETTSOM! Many a lisping babe
Shall bless the Man who kindly gave it life,
Who snatch'd its mother from a wat'ry grave, ,
And to a husband gave a new-born wife.
If deeds like these may merit Christian love,
Record them, Angels, in the realms above.