I now turn to the cause of these evils, and I find that the great root, the main spring is love of the world; next to that, pride; next to that, spiritual sloth. [This Memorandum was written a very few weeks before his death.] TRIBUTARY VERSES. SONNET, Addressed to H. K. White, on his Poems lately published HENRY! I greet thine entrance into life! With unconnected matter, half distill'd From letter'd page, shall bare for thee the knife, SONNET, To Henry Kirke White, on his Poems lately published. BY ARTHUR OWEN, ESQ. HAIL! gifted youth, whose passion-breathing lay A mind, which, wrapt in Fancy's high-wrought dreams, To nature's veriest bounds its daring way Can wing what charms throughout thy pages shine, For though along impassion'd grandeur roll, Proceed, sweet bard! and the heav'n-granted fire May nought destroy, may nought thy soul divest Of joy of rapture in the living lyre, Thou tun'st so magically: but may fame Each passing year add honours to thy name. Richmond, Sept. 1803. TO MR. H. K. WHITE. HARK! 'tis some sprite who sweeps a fun'ral knell Or Chatterton assumes the lyre unknown. |