TRIBUTARY VERSES. SONNET. Addressed to H. K. White, on his Poems lately published. HENRY! I greet thine entrance into life! With unconnected matter half distill'd From letter'd page, shall bare for thee the knife, G. L. C—, 1803. SONNET, To Mr. Henry Kirke White, on his Poems lately published. BY ARTHUR OWEN, ESQ. HAIL! gifted youth, whose passion-breathing lay A mind, which wrapt in fancy's high-wrought dreams, To nature's veriest bounds its daring way Can wing: what charms throughout thy pages shine, To win with fairy thrill the melting soul! For though along impassion'd grandeur roll, Proceed, sweet bard! and the heav'n-granted fire May nought destroy, may nought thy soul divest Of joy-of rapture in the living lyre, Thou tun'st so magically: but may fame Richmond, Sept. 1803. TO MR. H. K. WHITE. HARK! 'tis some sprite who sweeps a fun❜ral knell, Or Chatterton assumes the lyre unknown. No; list again! 'tis Bateman's fatal sigh ( Swells with the breeze, and dies upon the stream: "Tis Margaret mourns, as swift she rushes by, Rous'd by the dæmons from adulterous dream. O! say, sweet youth! what genius fires thy soul? To sing Hell's flaming gulph, or Heav'n high arch'd with gold? H WELKER. LINES On the Death of Mr. Henry Kirke White. BY THE REV. J. PLUMPTRE. SUCH talents and such piety combin'd, With him we'll strive to win the Saviour's love, October 24th, 1806. SONNET ON HENRY KIRKE WHITE. I. MASTER so early of the various LYRE And veil in death thy splendor ?-But unknown And brightest beam'd.-When these the ETERNAL SIRE, II. -Righteous and wise, and good are all his ways— Can mortal judge, for their diminisht days, 24th Oct. 1806. C. L. LINES On the Death of Mr. Henry Kirke White, late of St. John's College, Cambridge. WRITTEN ABOUT AND IN THAT COLLEGE. SORROWS are mine-then let me joys evade, Does thy aspiring mind new powers essay, Or, in suspended being, wait the day, When earth shall fall before the awful train Of Heaven and Virtues everlasting reign? May goodness, which thy heart did once enthrone, Emit one ray to meliorate my own! And, for thy sake, when time affliction calm, I turn my steps whence issued all my woes, |