ELEGIAC SONNETS.
SONNET I.
THE partial Muse, has from my earliest hours
Smil'd on the rugged path I'm doom'd to tread,
And still with sportive hand has snatch'd wild flowers,
To weave fantastic garlands for my head:
But far, far happier is the lot of those
Who never learn'd her dear delusive art,
Which while it decks the head with many a rose,
Reserves the thorn, to fester in the heart.
B
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