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SONNE T.

A LONELY Man he was, from whom these lays Flow'd in his cloister'd musings: He in scorn Held them, the unfeeling multitude, who born For deeds of nobler purpose, their ripe days Waste amidst fraudful industry, to raise Inglorious wealth. But He, life's studious morn Gave to the Muse, so best might he adorn His thoughtful brow with never-dying bays. And well the Muse repaid him. She hath given An unsubstantial world of richer fee; High thoughts, unchanging visions, that the leaven Of earth partake not ;

- Rich then must he be, Who of this cloudless world, this mortal heaven, Possesseth in his right the Sovereignty.

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