To Mr. Galliard
On his Setting a Hymn of Milton
Galliard, each note that flows from thee
Is like thyself, polite and free.
Thy genius, generous and gay,
Warms like July, and blooms like May.
Thou hast new-plum'd our Milton's wings,
Who now not only soars, but sings.
Galliard, each note that flows from thee
Is like thyself, polite and free.
Thy genius, generous and gay,
Warms like July, and blooms like May.
Thou hast new-plum'd our Milton's wings,
Who now not only soars, but sings.
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