Expression, child of soul! I fondly trace Thy strong enchantments, when the poet's lyre, The painter's pencil catch thy sacred fire, And beauty wakes for thee her touching grace -...
Oh, thou whose melody the heart obeys, Thou who can'st all its subject passions move, Whose notes to heav'n the list'ning soul can raise, Can thrill with pity, or can melt with love!...
Siddons! the Muse, for many a joy refin'd, Feelings which ever seem too swiftly fled - For those delicious tears she loves to shed, Around thy brow the wreath of praise would bind -...
Meek Twilight! soften the declining day, And bring the hour my pensive spirit loves; When, o'er the mountain flow descends the ray That gives to silence the deserted groves....
While, bending at thy honour'd shrine, the Muse Pours, MONTAGU, to thee her votive strain, Thy heart will not her simple notes refuse, Or chill her timid soul with cold disdain. ...