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ODE TO POESY.
Hair, heaven-born Poesy!—heaven-born, for allOf good or fair proceeds, and must, from heaven,—Lead me a willing votary in thy train;An humble one, indeed, but one whose heartWould fain receive thee to its inmost core,And cherish thee while vital heat remains;One who would prize thee as a valued gemOf countless worth, and bright and glorious lustre;One who would love thee, one who loves thee now,One who will ever love thee, as the friendOf virtue, wisdom, pity, and philanthropy;One, sweet Poesy, who ne'er would barter thee for sordid wealth,Or sully thy pure flame with flattery's incense,
