Sonnet LXXXVII. To A Young Lady, Addressed By A Gentleman Celebrated For His Poetic Talents.

Round Cleon's brow the Delphic laurels twine,
And lo! the laurel decks Amanda's breast!
Charm'd shall he mark its glossy branches shine
On that contrasting snow; shall see express'd
Love's better omens, in the green hues dress'd
Of this selected foliage. - Nymph, 't is thine
The warning story on its leaves to find,
Proud Daphne's fate, imprison'd in its rind,
And with its umbrage veil'd, great Phoebus' power
Scorning, and bent, with feet of wind, to foil
His swift pursuit, till on Thessalian shore
Shot into boughs, and rooted to the soil. -
Thus warn'd, fair Maid, Apollo's ire to shun,
Soon may his Spray's and VOTARY's lot be one.