SONNETS.

ARISTE! soon to sojourn with the crowd,

In soul abstracted must thy minstrel go;

Mix in the giddy, fond, fantastic show,

Mix with the gay, the envious, and the proud.

I go: but still my soul remains with thee,

Still will the eye of fancy paint thy charms,

Still, lovely Maid, thy imaged form I see,

And every pulse will vibrate with alarms.

When scandal spreads abroad her odious tale,

When envy at a rival's beauty sighs,

When rancour prompts the female tongue to rail,

And rage and malice fire the gamester's eyes,

I turn my wearied soul to her for ease,

Who only names to praise, who only speaks to please.