Mitford, the candid Critic of my lays, <br />Who oft when wild my careless Muse would sing <br />Smooth'd the rough note, and check'd her vagrant wing, <br />Accept the humble gift she grateful pays; <br />Though now your thoughts to bolder heights you raise, <br />By History's awful Goddess taught to bring <br />Celestial flowers from Freedom's hallow'd Spring <br />To crown the Chiefs of Grecia's happier days, <br />Yet how to harmonize the tuneful strain <br />Your voice has shewn Aonia's listening throng; <br />Nor will you, though your nicer ear retain <br />What sounds to purest Melody belong, <br />This tribute from a ruder Bard disdain, <br />Proud to record your friendship in his song.<br /><br />Henry James Pye<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-william-mitford-esq/
