SONNET,
TO THE AUTHOR OF THE MONK, &c. &c.
O! Next to HIM, in fancy, warm and wild,
Who, erst, ORLANDO's desperate feats display'd,
Tho' deep remov'd in chill Oblivion's shade,
Thee do I hail, Imagination's Child!Whether, with awe, thy bold romantic page
I trace, conducted by mysterious clue;
Or thrill'd to tenfold horror, shudd'ring, view
Thy well-rais'd SPECTRE stalk athwart the Stage,Or at quaint Humour smile my fears away:
For thine, strong diction, by the Grace drest,
Expression thine, that harrows up the breast,
And o'er the servient Passions sov'reign sway:Nor Thou, tho' placed sublime, this meed refuse
From one who vaunts himself--the Martyr of the Muse.
