Or PATRIOT VIRTUE view them with a frown?
What needs for _this_ the golden-stringed Lyre,
The snowy Tunic, and the Sun-bright Zone[1]!

1: Ensigns of Apollo's Priesthood.

SONNET LIV.

A PERSIAN KING TO HIS SON.

FROM A PROSE TRANSLATION IN SIR WILLIAM JONES' ESSAY
ON THE POETRY OF THE EASTERN NATIONS.

Guard thou, my Son, the Helpless and the Poor,
Nor in the chains of thine own indolence
Slumber enervate, while the joys of sense
Engross thee; and thou say'st, "I ask no more."--
_Wise_ Men the Shepherd's slumber will deplore
When the rapacious Wolf has leapt the fence,
And ranges thro' the fold.--My Son, dispense
Those laws, that justice to the Wrong'd restore.--
The Common-Weal shou'd be the first pursuit
Of the crown'd Warrior, for the royal brows
The People first enwreath'd.--They are the Root,
The King the Tree. Aloft he spreads his boughs
Glorious; but learn, impetuous Youth, at length,
Trees from the Root alone derive their strength.

SONNET LV.

ON THE QUICK TRANSITION FROM WINTER TO SUMMER
IN THE YEAR 1785.

Loud blew the North thro' April's pallid days,
Nor grass the field, nor leaves the grove obtains,
Nor crystal sun-beams, nor the gilded rains,
That bless the hours of promise, gently raise
Warmth in the blood, without that fiery blaze,
Which makes it boil along the throbbing veins.--
Albion, displeas'd, her own lov'd Spring surveys
Passing, with volant step, o'er russet plains;
Sees her to Summer's fierce embraces speed,
Pale, and unrobed.--Faithless! thou well may'st hide
Close in his sultry breast thy recreant head,
That did'st, neglecting thy distinguish'd Isle,
In Winter's icy arms so long abide,
While Britain vainly languish'd for thy smile!

SONNET LVI.

TO A TIMID YOUNG LADY,
DISTRESSED BY THE ATTENTIONS OF AN AMIABLE, AND _ACCEPTED_
LOVER.

What bashful wildness in those crystal eyes,
Fair Zillia!--Ah! more dear to LOVE the gaze
That _dwells_ upon its object, than the rays
Of that vague glance, quick, as in summer skies
The lightning's lambent flash, when neither rise
Thunder, nor storm.--I mark, while transport plays
Warm in thy Lover's eye, what dread betrays
Thy throbbing heart:--yet why from his soft sighs
Fleet'st thou so swift away?--like the young Hind[1],
That bending stands the fountain'