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In memory of the Honourable Major General Charles Monson, who died at Truro of a decline, January llth, 1808, in the prime of life, and at the dawn of prosperous fortune. His heart was generous, his mind amiable, and universally endearing his social worth.—The friends who trace this memorial will drop a tear of sorrow on his grave, and the strangers who pity his fate should heave a sigh of apprehension at their own. From A Tablet In Lostwithiel Church, Cornwall.
There is more true charity in one kind tear that falls in private.for the sorrows and sufferings of others, than in a thousand guineas proudly ushered into the notice of the world in all the pomp and parade of public contribution.
TO A LADY
WHO DESIRED THE AUTHOR 1O WRITE SOME POETRY ON HER.
WHO DESIRED THE AUTHOR 1O WRITE SOME POETRY ON HER.
Oh ! sweet is the music which beauty inspires,
And sweet is the song of the soul;
When the brain is illumed by the heart's glowing fires,
And the graces the subject controul!
You ask a poor bard all your charms to rehearse,
And the task would make apathy warm;
But no pencil can picture, or pen paint in verse,
What a god must have studied to form!
And sweet is the song of the soul;
When the brain is illumed by the heart's glowing fires,
And the graces the subject controul!
You ask a poor bard all your charms to rehearse,
And the task would make apathy warm;
But no pencil can picture, or pen paint in verse,
What a god must have studied to form!
