Elegiac sonnets. Volume 1 of 2  contents   |   previous   |   next SONNET I. THE partial Muse, has from my earliest hours          Smil'd on the rugged path I'm doom'd to tread, And still with sportive hand has snatch'd wild flowers,          To weave fantastic garlands for my head: But far, far happier is the lot of those          Who never learn'd her dear delusive art; Which, while it decks the head with many a rose,          Reserves the thorn, to fester in the heart. For still the bid's soft Pity's melting eye          Stream o'er the hills she knows not to remove, Points every pang, and deepens every sigh          Of mourning friendship, or unhappy love. Ah! then, how dear the Muse's favours cost, If those paint sorrow best who feel it most! [Note:] SONNET 1. Line 13. Ah, then, how dear the Muse's favours cost, If those paint sorrow best who feel it most! The well-sung woes shall soothe my pensive ghost; He best can paint them, who shall feel them most. Pope's Eloisa to Abelard, 366th line.  contents   |   previous   |   next		HOME INTRODUCTION