OF SOME OF BOWLES'S SONNETS.

No sweeter verse did e'er inspire
A kindred Muse with all its fire;
Nor sweeter strains could Music lend,
To sooth the sorrows of her friend.

Associate Genius bids them flow
With sounds that give a charm to woe;
We weep as tho' it were our own,
As if our hearts were play'd upon.