SONNET
VII
.
C**e
,
with
whom
,
my
pilot
and
my
guide
,
Pleas'd
I
have
travers'd
thy
Sabrina's
flood
,
Both
where
she
foams
impetuous
soil'd
with
mud
,
And
where
she
peaceful
rolls
her
golden
tide
.
Never
,
O
never
let
ambition's
pride
(
Too
oft
pretexted
with
our
country's
good
)
And
tinsel'd
pomp
,
despis'd
when
understood
,
Or
thirst
of
wealth
thee
from
her
banks
divide
.
Reflect
how
calmly
,
like
her
infant
wave
,
Flows
the
clear
current
of
a
private
life
;
See
the
wide
publick
stream
by
tempests
toss'd
,
Of
ev'ry
changing
wind
the
sport
,
or
slave
,
Soil'd
with
corruption
,
vex'd
with
party
strife
,
Cover'd
with
wrecks
of
peace
and
honour
lost
.