Alaric Alexander Watts

M. L. D., "To Alaric A. Watts, Esq. Editor of The Literary Souvenir" Ladies' Monthly Museum S3 23 (June 1826) 350.

Thanks, thanks to thy garland, O Son of the Lyre,
For its fragrance breathes virtue, and chaste is its bloom;
And its permanent sweetness shall never expire,
When the hand which has wreath'd it shall rest in the tomb.

Thou hast cull'd from the gardens of Genius the flowers
Which affection and virtue so carefully tend;
And, amidst their bright bloom, not a weed has the power
To poison their sweetness, or make them offend.

Her proudest of laurel, Fame wreathes for thy brow,
And the myrtle and ivy their chaplet shall join;
While Virtue her own lovely rose shall bestow,
Unstained by a canker, and purely thy own.

The lip of fair Innocence, never need fear
To press thy young flowerets, so lovely and meek;
They may cause her soft eye to be gem'd with a tear,
But they never shall raise Shame's pain'd blush on her cheek.