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 High thoughts, unchanging visions, that the leaven |