Chapter I: Preface (1)

Whatever other excellence may be wanting in the ensuing Poems, they are, with only nine exceptions out of the hundred, strictly Sonnets. Those nine vary only from the rules of the legitimate Sonnet in that they rhime _three_, instead of _four_ times in the _first_ part. The pause is in _them_, as in the _rest_, variously placed through the course of the verses; and thus they bear no more resemblance than their associates, to those minute Elegies of twelve alternate rhimes, closing with a couplet, which assume the name of Sonnet, without any other resemblance to that order of Verse, except their limitation to fourteen lines. I never found the quadruple rhimes injurious to the general expression of the sense, but in the excepted instances. When it is considered how few they are in so _large_ a number, I flatter myself the idea will vanish that our language is not capable of doing justice to the _regular_ Sonnet.

From the Supplement to the Gentleman's Magazine for 1786, I shall insert Mr. White's definition of the nature and perfection of this species of Verse, because I think it explains them with justness and precision.

“Little Elegies, consisting of four stanzas and a couplet, are no more Sonnets than they are Epic Poems. The Sonnet is of a particular and _arbitrary_ construction; it partakes of the nature of Blank Verse, by the lines running into each other at proper intervals. Each line of the first eight, rhimes four times, and the order in which those rhimes should fall is decisive. For the ensuing six there is more licence; they may, or may not, at pleasure, close with a couplet.

“Of Milton's English Sonnets, only that to Oliver Cromwell ends with a couplet, but the single instance is a sufficient precedent; however, in three out of his five Italian ones, the concluding lines rhime to each other.

“The style of the Sonnet should be nervous, and, where the subject will with propriety bear elevation, sublime; with which, simplicity of language is by no means incompatible. If the subject is familiar and domestic, the style should, though affectionate, be nervous; though plain, be energetic. The great models of perfection, for the sublime and domestic Sonnet, are those of Milton's, ‘To the Soldier to spare his Dwelling-place,’ and ‘To Mr. Laurence.’

“The Sonnet is certainly the most difficult species of poetic composition; but difficulty, well subdued, is excellence. Mrs. Smith says she has been told that the regular Sonnet suits not the nature or genius of our language. Surely this assertion cannot be demonstrated, and therefore was not worth attention.

“Out of eighteen English Sonnets, written by Milton, four are bad. The rest, though they are not free from certain hardnesses, have a pathos and greatness in their simplicity, sufficient to endear the legitimate Sonnet to every Reader of just taste. They possess a _characteristic_ grace, which can never belong to three elegiac stanzas, closing with a couplet.”

I have pleasure in quoting the preceding Dissertation on the SONNET, conscious that there is no order of Verse, upon which so much erroneous opinion has gone forth, and of whose beauties the merely common Reader is so insensible. But when the Author of this just Treatise says of the assertion, that the legitimate Sonnet suits not our language, “its truth cannot be demonstrated,” he should perhaps rather have observed, that its fallacy is proved by the great number of beautiful legitimate Sonnets, which adorn our National Poetry, not only by Milton, but by many of our _modern_ Poets.

Of the four of Milton's, justly disapproved by Mr. White, there is one evidently a _burlesque_, written in sport. It begins,

“A book was writ of late, call'd Tetrachordon.”

Doctor Johnson has the disingenuousness, in his Folio Dictionary, under the word SONNET, to cite _that_ Sonnet at full length, as a specimen of Milton's style in this kind of Poetry. Johnson disliked Sonnets, and he equally disliked Blank Verse, and Odes. It is in vain to combat the prejudice of splenetic aversion. The Sonnet is an highly valuable species of Verse; the best vehicle for a single detached thought, an elevated, or a tender sentiment, and for a succinct description. The compositions of that order now before the Reader, ensued from time to time, as various circumstances impressed the heart, or the imagination of their Author, and as the aweful, or lovely scenes of Nature, arrested, or allured her eye.

TO MISS SEWARD,

ON READING HER CENTENARY OF SONNETS.

Dear are the forceful energies of Song,
For they do swell the spring-tide of the heart
With rosier currents, and impel along
The life-blood freely:--O! they can impart
Raptures ne'er dreamt of by the sordid throng
Who barter human feeling at the mart
Of pamper'd selfishness, and thus do wrong
Imperial Nature of her prime desert.--
SEWARD! _thy_ strains, beyond the critic-praise
Which may to arduous skill its meed assign,
Can the pure sympathies of _spirit_ raise
To bright Imagination's throne divine;
And proudly triumph, with a generous strife,
O'er all the “flat realities of life.”

High Street, Marybone,
Feb. 1, 1799.

T. PARK.

VERSES

BY THE REV. H. F. CAREY,

ON READING THE FOLLOWING PARAPHRASES.

Hear, honor'd Flaccus, from the vocal shades
Where with gay Prior, and thy [1]Teian Peer
Thou wanderest thro' the amaranthine glades,
While social joys the devious walk endear!

Or whether in the bright Elysian bowers,
Where the tall vine its lavish mantle spreads,
Thou crown'st the goblet with unfading flowers,
Sooth'd by the murmuring stream, that labors thro' the meads.

Hear, happy Bard!--to wake thy silent lyre
Our British Muse, our charming Seward, deigns!--
With more harmonious tones, more sportive fire
Beneath her hand arise the potent strains.

Then, as thou hear'st the sweet Enthusiast, own
Thy fancy's various florets look'd less gay
When kiss'd by bright Italia's ardent sun,
Than now their hues expand in Albion's milder ray!

H. F. CAREY.

1: Anacreon.

SONNETS.

SONNET I.

When Life's realities the Soul perceives
Vain, dull, perchance corrosive, if she glows
With rising energy, and open throws
The golden gates of Genius, she achieves
His fairy clime delighted, and receives
In those gay paths, deck'd with the thornless rose,
Blest compensation.--Lo! with alter'd brows
Lours the false World, and the fine Spirit grieves;
No more young Hope tints with her light and bloom
The darkening Scene.--Then to ourselves we say,
Come, bright IMAGINATION, come! relume
Thy orient lamp; with recompensing ray
Shine on the Mind, and pierce its gathering gloom
With all the fires of intellectual Day!

SONNET II.

The Future, and its gifts, alone we prize,
Few joys the Present brings, and those alloy'd;
Th' expected fulness leaves an aching void;
But HOPE stands by, and lifts her sunny eyes
That gild the days to come.--She still relies
The Phantom HAPPINESS not thus shall glide
_Always_ from life.--Alas!--yet ill betide
Austere Experience, when she coldly tries
In distant roses to discern the thorn!
Ah! is it wise to anticipate our pain?
_Arriv'd_, it then is soon enough to mourn.
Nor call the dear Consoler false and vain,
When yet again, shining through april-tears,
Those fair enlight'ning eyes beam on advancing Years.

SONNET III.

WRITTEN AT BUXTON IN A RAINY SEASON.

From these wild heights, where oft the mists descend
In rains, that shroud the sun, and chill the gale,
Each transient, gleaming interval we hail,
And rove the naked vallies, and extend
Our gaze around, where yon vast mountains blend
With billowy clouds, that o'er their summits sail;
Pondering, how little Nature's charms befriend
The barren scene, monotonous, and pale.
Yet solemn when the darkening shadows fleet
Successive o'er the wide and silent hills,
Gilded by watry sun-beams, then we meet
Peculiar pomp of vision. Fancy thrills,
And owns there is no scene so rude and bare,
But Nature sheds or grace or grandeur there.

SONNET IV.

TO
HONORA SNEYD[1],
WHOSE HEALTH WAS ALWAYS BEST IN WINTER.

And now the youthful, gay, capricious Spring,
Piercing her showery clouds with crystal light,
And with their hues reflected streaking bright
Her radiant bow, bids all her Warblers sing;
The Lark, shrill caroling on soaring wing;
The lonely Thrush, in brake, with blossoms white,
That tunes his pipe so loud; while, from the sight
Coy bending their dropt heads, young Cowslips fling
Rich perfume o'er the fields.--It is the prime
Of Hours that Beauty robes:--yet all they gild,
Cheer, and delight in this their fragrant time,
For thy dear sake, to me less pleasure yield
Than, veil'd in sleet, and rain, and hoary rime,
Dim Winter's naked hedge and plashy field.

_May 1770._

1: Afterwards Mrs. Edgeworth.

SONNET V.

TO A
FRIEND,
WHO THINKS SENSIBILITY A MISFORTUNE.

Ah, thankless! canst thou envy him who gains
The Stoic's cold and indurate repose?
Thou! with thy lively sense of bliss and woes!--
From a false balance of life's joys and pains
Thou deem'st him happy.--Plac'd 'mid fair domains,
Where full the river down the valley flows,
As wisely might'st thou wish thy home had rose
On the parch'd surface of unwater'd plains,
For that, when long the heavy rain descends,
Bursts over guardian banks their whelming tide!--
Seldom the wild and wasteful Flood extends,
But, spreading plenty, verdure, beauty wide,
The cool translucent Stream perpetual bends,
And laughs the Vale as the bright waters glide.

SONNET VI.

WRITTEN AT LICHFIELD,
IN AN EASTERN APARTMENT OF THE BISHOP'S PALACE,
WHICH COMMANDS A VIEW OF STOW VALLEY.

In this chill morning of a wintry Spring
I look into the gloom'd and rainy vale;
The sullen clouds, the stormy winds assail,
Lour on the fields, and with impetuous wing
Disturb the lake:--but Love and Memory cling
To their known scene, in this cold influence pale;
Yet priz'd, as when it bloom'd in Summer's gale,
Ting'd by his setting sun.--When Sorrows fling,
Or slow Disease, thus, o'er some beauteous Form
Their shadowy languors, Form, devoutly dear
As thine to me, HONORA, with more warm
And anxious gaze the eyes of Love sincere
Bend on the charms, dim in their tintless snow,
Than when with health's vermilion hues they glow.

SONNET VII.

By Derwent's rapid stream as oft I stray'd,
With Infancy's light step and glances wild,
And saw vast rocks, on steepy mountains pil'd,
Frown o'er th' umbrageous glen; or pleas'd survey'd
The cloudy moonshine in the shadowy glade,
Romantic Nature to th' enthusiast Child
Grew dearer far than when serene she smil'd,
In uncontrasted loveliness array'd.
But O! in every Scene, with sacred sway,
Her graces fire me; from the bloom that spreads
Resplendent in the lucid morn of May,
To the green light the little Glow-worm sheds
On mossy banks, when midnight glooms prevail,
And softest Silence broods o'er all the dale.

SONNET VIII.

TRANSLATION.

Short is the time the oldest Being lives,
Nor has Longevity one _hour_ to waste;
Life's duties are proportion'd to the haste
With which it fleets away;--each day receives
Its task, that if neglected, surely gives
The morrow _double_ toil.--Ye, who have pass'd
In idle sport the days that fled so fast,
Days, that nor Grief recalls, nor Care retrieves,
At length be wise, and think, that of the part
Remaining in that vital period given,
How short the date, and at the prospect start,
Ere to the extremest verge your steps be driv'n!
Nor let a moment unimprov'd depart,
But view it as the _latest_ trust of Heav'n!

SONNET IX.

Seek not, my Lesbia, the sequester'd dale,
Or bear thou to its shades a _tranquil_ heart;
Since rankles most in _solitude_ the smart
Of injur'd charms and talents, when they fail
To meet their due regard;--nor e'en prevail
Where most they wish to please:--Yet, since thy part
Is large in Life's chief blessings, why desert
Sullen the world?--Alas! how many wail
Dire loss of the best comforts Heaven can grant!
While they the bitter tear in secret pour,
Smote by the death of Friends, Disease, or Want,
_Slight_ wrongs if thy self-valuing soul deplore,
Thou but resemblest, in thy lonely haunt,
Narcissus pining on the watry shore.

SONNET X.

TO
HONORA SNEYD.

HONORA, shou'd that cruel time arrive
When 'gainst my truth thou should'st my errors poize,
Scorning remembrance of our vanish'd joys;
When for the love-warm looks, in which I live,
But cold respect must greet me, that shall give
No tender glance, no kind regretful sighs;
When thou shalt pass me with averted eyes,
Feigning thou see'st me not, to sting, and grieve,
And sicken my sad heart, I cou'd not bear
Such dire eclipse of thy soul-cheering rays;
I cou'd not learn my struggling heart to tear
From thy lov'd form, that thro' my memory strays;
Nor in the pale horizon of Despair
Endure the wintry and the darken'd days.

_April 1773._

SONNET XI.

How sweet to rove, from summer sun-beams veil'd,
In gloomy dingles; or to trace the tide
Of wandering brooks, their pebbly beds that chide;
To feel the west-wind cool refreshment yield,
That comes soft creeping o'er the flowery field,
And shadow'd waters; in whose bushy side
The Mountain-Bees their fragrant treasure hide
Murmuring; and sings the lonely Thrush conceal'd!--
Then, Ceremony, in thy gilded halls,
Where forc'd and frivolous the themes arise,
With bow and smile unmeaning, O! how palls
At thee, and thine, my sense!--how oft it sighs
For leisure, wood-lanes, dells, and water-falls;
And feels th' untemper'd heat of sultry skies!

SONNET XII.

Chill'd by unkind Honora's alter'd eye,
“Why droops my heart with fruitless woes forlorn,”
Thankless for much of good?--what thousands, born
To ceaseless toil beneath this wintry sky,
Or to brave deathful Oceans surging high,
Or fell Disease's fever'd rage to mourn,
How blest to _them_ wou'd seem _my_ destiny!
How _dear_ the comforts my rash sorrows scorn!--
Affection is repaid by causeless hate!
A plighted love is chang'd to cold disdain!
Yet suffer not thy wrongs to shroud thy fate,
But turn, my Soul, to blessings which remain;
And let this truth the wise resolve create,
THE HEART ESTRANGED NO ANGUISH CAN REGAIN.

_July 1773._

SONNET XIII.

Thou child of NIGHT, and SILENCE, balmy SLEEP,
Shed thy soft poppies on my aching brow!
And charm to rest the thoughts of whence, or how
Vanish'd that priz'd AFFECTION, wont to keep
Each grief of mine from rankling into woe.
Then stern Misfortune from her bended bow
Loos'd the dire strings;--and Care, and anxious Dread
From my cheer'd heart, on sullen pinion, fled.
But _now_, the spell dissolv'd, th' Enchantress gone,
Ceaseless those cruel Fiends infest my day,
And sunny hours but light them to their prey.
Then welcome Midnight shades, when thy wish'd boon
May in oblivious dews my eye-lids steep,
THOU CHILD OF NIGHT, AND SILENCE, BALMY SLEEP!

_July 1773._

SONNET XIV.

INGRATITUDE, how deadly is thy smart
Proceeding from the Form we fondly love!
How light, compared, all _other_ sorrows prove!
THOU shed'st a _Night_ of Woe, from whence depart
The gentle beams of Patience, that the heart
'Mid _lesser_ ills, illume.--_Thy_ Victims rove
Unquiet as the Ghost that haunts the Grove
Where MURDER spilt the life-blood.--O! thy dart
Kills _more_ than Life,--e'en all that makes Life dear;
Till we “the sensible of pain” wou'd change
For Phrenzy, that defies the bitter tear;
Or wish, in kindred callousness, to range
Where moon-ey'd IDIOCY, with fallen lip,
Drags the loose knee, and intermitting step.

_July 1773._

SONNET XV.

WRITTEN ON RISING GROUND NEAR LICHFIELD.

The evening shines in May's luxuriant pride,
And all the sunny hills at distance glow,
And all the brooks, that thro' the valley flow,
Seem liquid gold.--O! had my fate denied
Leisure, and power to taste the sweets that glide
Thro' waken'd minds, as the soft seasons go
On their still varying progress, for the woe
My heart has felt, what balm had been supplied?
But where great NATURE smiles, as _here_ she smiles,
'Mid verdant vales, and gently swelling hills,
And glassy lakes, and mazy, murmuring rills,
And narrow wood-wild lanes, her spell beguiles
Th' impatient sighs of Grief, and reconciles
Poetic Minds to Life, with all her ills.

_May 1774._

SONNET XVI.

TRANSLATED FROM BOILEAU.

Apollo, at his crowded altars, tir'd
Of Votaries, who for trite ideas thrown
Into loose verse, assume, in lofty tone,
The Poet's name, untaught, and uninspir'd,
Indignant struck the LYRE.--Straight it acquir'd
New powers, and complicate. Then first was known
The rigorous Sonnet, to be fram'd alone
By duteous Bards, or by just Taste admir'd.--
Go, energetic SONNET, go, he cried,
And be the test of skill!--For rhymes that flow
Regardless of thy rules, their destin'd guide,
Yet take thy name, ah! let the boasters know
That with strict sway my jealous laws preside,
While I no wreaths on _rebel_ verse bestow.

SONNET XVII.

Ah! why have I indulg'd my dazzled sight
With scenes in Hope's delusive mirror shown?
Scenes, that too seldom human Life has known
In kind accomplishment;--but O! how bright
The rays, that gilded them with varied light
Alternate! oft swift flashing on the boon
That might at FAME's immortal shrine be won;
Then shining soft on tender LOVE's delight.--
Now, with stern hand, FATE draws the sable veil
O'er the frail glass!--HOPE, as she turns away,
The darken'd crystal drops.----Heavy and pale,
Rain-pouring clouds quench all the darts of day;
Low mourns the wind along the gloomy dale,
And tolls the Death-bell in the pausing gale.

SONNET XVIII.

AN EVENING IN NOVEMBER,
WHICH HAD BEEN STORMY, GRADUALLY CLEARING UP,
IN A MOUNTAINOUS COUNTRY.

Ceas'd is the rain; but heavy drops yet fall
From the drench'd roof;--yet murmurs the sunk wind
Round the dim hills; can yet a passage find
Whistling thro' yon cleft rock, and ruin'd wall.
The swoln and angry torrents heard, appal,
Tho' distant.--A few stars, emerging kind,
Shed their green, trembling beams.--With lustre small,
The moon, her swiftly-passing clouds behind,
Glides o'er that shaded hill.--Now blasts remove
The shadowing clouds, and on the mountain's brow,
Full-orb'd, she shines.--Half sunk within its cove
Heaves the lone boat, with gulphing sound;--and lo!
Bright rolls the settling lake, and brimming rove
The vale's blue rills, and glitter as they flow.

SONNET XIX.

TO ----.

Farewell, false Friend!--our scenes of kindness close!
To cordial looks, to sunny smiles farewell!
To sweet consolings, that can grief expel,
And every joy soft sympathy bestows!
For alter'd looks, where truth no longer glows,
Thou hast prepar'd my heart;--and it was well
To bid thy pen th' unlook'd for story tell,
Falsehood avow'd, that shame, nor sorrow knows.--
O! when we meet,--(to meet we're destin'd, try
To avoid it as thou may'st) on either brow,
Nor in the stealing consciousness of eye,
Be seen the slightest trace of what, or how
We once were to each other;--nor one sigh
Flatter with weak regret a broken vow!

SONNET XX.

ON READING A DESCRIPTION OF POPE's GARDENS
AT TWICKENHAM.

Ah! might I range each hallow'd bower and glade
Musæus cultur'd, many a raptur'd sigh
Wou'd that dear, local consciousness supply
Beneath his willow, in the grotto's shade,
Whose roof his hand with ores and shells inlaid.
How sweet to watch, with reverential eye,
Thro' the sparr'd arch, the streams he oft survey'd,
Thine, blue Thamésis, gently wandering by!
This is the POET's triumph, and it towers
O'er Life's pale ills, his consciousness of powers
That lift his memory from Oblivion's gloom,
Secure a train of these heart-thrilling hours
By his idea deck'd in rapture's bloom,
For Spirits rightly touch'd, thro' ages yet to come.

SONNET XXI.

Proud of our lyric Galaxy, I hear
Of faded Genius with supreme disdain;
As when we see the Miser bend insane
O'er his full coffers, and in accents drear
Deplore imagin'd want;--and thus appear
To me those moody Censors, who complain,
As [1]Shaftsbury plain'd in a now _boasted_ reign,
That “POESY had left our darken'd sphere.”
Whence may the present stupid dream be traced
That now she shines not as in days foregone?
Perchance neglected, often shine in waste
Her LIGHTS, from number into confluence run,
More than when _thinly_ in th' horizon placed
Each Orb shone separate, and appear'd a Sun.

1: Of the Poets, who were cotemporary with Lord Shaftsbury, Dryden, Cowley, Pope, Prior, Congreve, Gay, Addison, &c. in the Period which _this_ Age styles AUGUSTAN, his Lordship speaks with _sovereign scorn_. In his Characteristics he, without making any exception, labors to prove, that the compositions of Dryden are uniformly contemptible. See his advice to an Author in the second Volume of the Characteristics, and also his miscellaneous reflections in the third Volume; “If,” says he to the authors, “your Poets are still to be _Mr. Bayses_, and your prose writers _Sir Rogers_, without offering at a _better_ manner, must it follow that the manner is good, and the wit genuine?”

Thus it is that the jealousy People of literary fame often feel of each other, produces the foolish, and impolitic desire of decrying the general pretensions of the Age to Genius. Their narrow selfishness leads them to _betray_ the common cause, which it is their _true_ interest to _support_. They persuade the credulous Many, with whom envy of superior talents increases their willingness to despise, that Imagination is become enervated; designing, however, to have it understood, that in their individual instance exists the sole exception,

“For they wou'd each bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus.”

SONNET XXII.

SUBJECT CONTINUED.

You, whose dull spirits feel not the fine glow
Enthusiasm breathes, no more of light
Perceive ye in rapt POESY, tho' bright
In Fancy's richest colouring, than can flow
From jewel'd treasures in the central night
Of their deep caves.--You have no _Sun_ to show
Their inborn radiance pure.--Go, Snarlers, go;
Nor your defects of feeling, and of sight,
To charge upon the POET thus presume,
Ye lightless minds, whate'er of title proud,
Scholar, or Sage, or Critic, ye assume,
Arraigning his high claims with censure loud,
Or sickly scorn; _yours_, _yours_ is all the cloud,
Gems cannot sparkle in the midnight Gloom.

SONNET XXIII.

TO
MISS E. S.

Do I not tell thee surly Winter's flown,
That the brook's verge is green;--and bid thee hear,
In yon irriguous vale, the Blackbird clear,
At measur'd intervals, with mellow tone,
Choiring [1]the hours of prime? and call thine ear
To the gay viol dinning in the dale,
With tabor loud, and bag-pipe's rustic drone
To merry Shearer's dance;--or jest retail
From festal board, from choral roofs the song;
And speak of Masque, or Pageant, to beguile
The caustic memory of a cruel wrong?--
Thy lips acknowledge this a generous wile,
And bid me still the effort kind prolong;
But ah! they wear a cold and joyless smile.

1: “While Day arises, that sweet hour of prime.” MILTON'S PAR. LOST.

SONNET XXIV.

TRANSLATION.

Behold the Day an image of the Year!
The Year an image of our life's short span!
Morn, like the Spring, with growing light began,
Spring, like our Youth, with joy, and beauty fair;
Noon picturing Summer;--Summer's ardent sphere
Manhood's gay portrait.--Eve, like Autumn, wan,
Autumn resembling faded age in Man;
Night, with its silence, and its darkness drear,
Emblem of Winter's frore and gloomy reign,
When torpid lie the vegetative Powers;
Winter, so shrunk, so cold, reminds us plain
Of the mute Grave, that o'er the dim Corse lours;
There shall the Weary rest, nor ought remain
To the pale Slumberer of Life's checker'd hours.

SONNET XXV.

[1]PETRARCH to VAUCLUSE.

Fortunate Vale! exulting Hill! dear Plain!
Where morn, and eve, my soul's fair Idol stray'd,
While all your winds, that murmur'd thro' the glade,
Stole her sweet breath; yet, yet your paths retain
Prints of her step, by fount, whose floods remain
In depth unfathom'd; 'mid the rocks, that shade,
With cavern'd arch, their sleep.--Ye streams, that play'd
Around her limbs in Summer's ardent reign,
The soft resplendence of those azure eyes
Ting'd ye with living light.--The envied claim
These blest distinctions give, my lyre, my sighs,
My songs record; and, from their Poet's flame,
Bid this wild Vale, its Rocks, and Streams arise,
Associates still of their bright MISTRESS' fame.

1: This Sonnet is not a Translation or Paraphrase, but is written in the Character of Petrarch, and in imitation of his manner.

SONNET XXVI.

O partial MEMORY! Years, that fled too fast,
From thee in more than pristine beauty rise,
Forgotten all the transient tears and sighs
Somewhat that dimm'd their brightness! Thou hast chas'd
Each hovering mist from the soft Suns, that grac'd
Our fresh, gay morn of Youth;--the Heart's high prize,
Friendship,--and all that charm'd us in the eyes
Of yet unutter'd Love.--So pleasures past,
That in thy crystal prism thus glow sublime,
Beam on the gloom'd and disappointed Mind
When Youth and Health, in the chill'd grasp of Time,
Shudder and fade;--and cypress buds we find
Ordain'd Life's blighted roses to supply,
While but _reflected_ shine the golden lights of Joy.

SONNET XXVII.

See wither'd WINTER, bending low his head;
His ragged locks stiff with the hoary dew;
His eyes, like frozen lakes, of livid hue;
His train, a sable cloud, with murky red
Streak'd.--Ah! behold his nitrous breathings shed
Petrific death!--Lean, wailful Birds pursue,
On as he sweeps o'er the dun lonely moor,
Amid the battling blast of all the Winds,
That, while their sleet the climbing Sailor blinds,
Lash the white surges to the sounding shore.
So com'st thou, WINTER, finally to doom
The sinking year; and with thy ice-dropt sprays,
Cypress and yew, engarland her pale tomb,
Her vanish'd hopes, and aye-departed days.

SONNET XXVIII.

O, GENIUS! does thy Sun-resembling beam
To the internal eyes of Man display
In clearer prospect, the momentous way
That leads to peace? Do they not rather seem
Dazzled by lustres in continual stream,
Till night they find in such _excessive_ day?
Art thou not prone, with too intense a ray,
To gild the hope improbable, the dream
Of fancied good?--or bid the sigh upbraid
Imaginary evils, and involve
All real sorrow in a darker shade?
To fond credulity, to rash resolve
Dost thou not prompt, till reason's sacred aid
And fair discretion in thy fires dissolve?

SONNET XXIX.

SUBJECT CONTINUED.

If GENIUS has its danger, grief and pain,
That Common-Sense escapes, yet who wou'd change
The Powers, thro' Nature, and thro' Art that range,
To keep the bounded, tho' more safe domain
Of _moderate_ Intellect, where all we gain
Is cold approvance? where the sweet, the strange,
Soft, and sublime, in vivid interchange,
Nor glad the spirit, nor enrich the brain.
Destructive shall we deem yon noon-tide blaze
If transiently the eye, o'er-power'd, resign
Distinct perception?--Shall we rather praise
The Moon's wan light?--with owlish choice incline
That Common-Sense her lunar lamp shou'd raise
Than that the _solar_ fires of GENIUS shine?

SONNET XXX.

That song again!--its sounds my bosom thrill,
Breathe of past years, to all their joys allied;
And, as the notes thro' my sooth'd spirits glide,
Dear Recollection's choicest sweets distill,
Soft as the Morn's calm dew on yonder hill,
When slants the Sun upon its grassy side,
Tinging the brooks that many a mead divide
With lines of gilded light; and blue, and still,
The distant lake stands gleaming in the vale.
Sing, yet once more, that well-remember'd strain,
Which oft made vocal every passing gale
In days long fled, in Pleasure's golden reign,
The youth of chang'd HONORA!--now it wears
Her air--her smile--_spells_ of the vanish'd years!

SONNET XXXI.

TO THE DEPARTING SPIRIT OF AN ALIENATED FRIEND.

O, EVER DEAR! thy precious, vital powers
Sink rapidly!--the long and dreary Night
Brings scarce an hope that Morn's returning light
Shall dawn for THEE!--In such terrific hours,
When yearning Fondness eagerly devours
Each moment of protracted life, his flight
The Rashly-Chosen of thy heart has ta'en
Where dances, songs, and theatres invite.
EXPIRING SWEETNESS! with indignant pain
I see him in the scenes where laughing glide
Pleasure's light Forms;--see his eyes gaily glow,
Regardless of thy life's fast ebbing tide;
I hear him, who shou'd droop in silent woe,
Declaim on Actors, and on Taste decide!

SONNET XXXII.

SUBJECT OF THE PRECEDING SONNET CONTINUED.

Behold him now his genuine colours wear,
That specious False-One, by whose cruel wiles
I lost thy amity; saw thy dear smiles
Eclips'd; those smiles, that us'd my heart to cheer,
Wak'd by thy grateful sense of many a year
When rose thy youth, by Friendship's pleasing toils
Cultur'd;--but DYING!--O! for ever fade
The angry fires.--Each thought, that might upbraid
Thy broken faith, which yet my soul deplores,
Now as eternally is past and gone
As are the interesting, the happy hours,
Days, years, we shar'd together. They are flown!
Yet long must I lament thy hapless doom,
Thy lavish'd life and early-hasten'd tomb.

SONNET XXXIII.

Last night her Form the hours of slumber bless'd
Whose eyes illumin'd all my youthful years.--
Spirit of dreams, at thy command appears
Each airy Shape, that visiting our rest,
Dismays, perplexes, or delights the breast.
My pensive heart this kind indulgence cheers;
Bliss, in no _waking_ moment now possess'd,
Bliss, ask'd of thee with Memory's thrilling tears,
Nightly I cry, how oft, alas! in vain,
Give, by thy powers, that airy Shapes controul,
HONORA to my visions!--ah! ordain
Her beauteous lip may wear the smile that stole,
In years long fled, the sting from every pain!
Show her sweet face, ah show it to my soul!

_June 1780._

SONNET XXXIV.

When Death, or adverse Fortune's ruthless gale,
Tears our best hopes away, the wounded Heart
Exhausted, leans on all that can impart
The charm of Sympathy; her mutual wail
How soothing! never can her warm tears fail
To balm our bleeding grief's severest smart;
Nor wholly vain _feign'd_ Pity's solemn art,
Tho' we should penetrate her sable veil.
Concern, e'en known to be _assum'd_, our pains
Respecting, kinder welcome far acquires
Than cold Neglect, or Mirth that Grief profanes.
Thus each faint Glow-worm of the Night conspires,
Gleaming along the moss'd and darken'd lanes,
To cheer the Gloom with her unreal fires.

_June 1780._

SONNET XXXV.

SPRING.

In April's gilded morn when south winds blow,
And gently shake the hawthorn's silver crown,
Wafting its scent the forest-glade adown,
The dewy shelter of the bounding Doe,
_Then_, under trees, soft tufts of primrose show
Their palely-yellowing flowers;--to the moist Sun
Blue harebells peep, while cowslips stand unblown,
Plighted to riper May;--and lavish flow
The Lark's loud carols in the wilds of air.
O! not to Nature's glad Enthusiast cling
Avarice, and pride.--Thro' her now blooming sphere
Charm'd as he roves, his thoughts enraptur'd spring
To HIM, who gives frail Man's appointed time
These cheering hours of promise, and of prime.

_April 29th, 1782._

SONNET XXXVI.

SUMMER.

Now on hills, rocks, and streams, and vales, and plains,
Full looks the shining Day.--Our gardens wear
The gorgeous robes of the consummate Year.
With laugh, and shout, and song, stout Maids and Swains
Heap high the fragrant hay, as thro' rough lanes
Rings the yet empty waggon.--See in air
The pendent cherries, red with tempting stains,
Gleam thro' their boughs.--Summer, thy bright career
Must slacken soon in Autumn's milder sway;
Then thy now heapt and jocund meads shall stand
Smooth,--vacant,--silent,--thro' th' exulting Land
As wave thy Rival's golden fields, and gay
Her Reapers throng. She smiles, and binds the sheaves;
Then bends her parting step o'er fall'n and rustling leaves.

_June 27th, 1782._

SONNET XXXVII.

AUTUMN.

Thro' changing Months a well-attemper'd Mind
Welcomes their gentle or terrific pace.--
When o'er retreating Autumn's golden grace
Tempestuous Winter spreads in every wind
Naked asperity, our musings find
Grandeur increasing, as the Glooms efface
Variety and glow.--Each solemn trace
Exalts the thoughts, from sensual joys refin'd.
Then blended in our rapt ideas rise
The vanish'd charms, that summer-suns reveal,
With all of desolation, that now lies
Dreary before us;--teach the Soul to feel
Awe in the Present, pleasure in the Past,
And to see vernal Morns in Hope's perspective cast.

_October 27th, 1782._

SONNET XXXVIII.

WINTER.

If he whose bosom with no transport swells
In vernal airs and hours commits the crime
Of sullenness to Nature, 'gainst the Time,
And its great RULER, he alike rebels
Who seriousness and pious dread repels,
And aweless gazes on the faded Clime,
Dim in the gloom, and pale in the hoar rime
That o'er the bleak and dreary prospect steals.--
Spring claims our tender, grateful, gay delight;
Winter our sympathy and sacred fear;
And sure the Hearts that pay not Pity's rite
O'er wide calamity; that careless hear
Creation's wail, neglect, amid her blight,
THE SOLEMN LESSON OF THE RUIN'D YEAR.

_December 1st, 1782._

SONNET XXXIX.

WINTER EVENING.

When mourn the dark Winds o'er the lonely plain,
And from pale noon sinks, ere the fifth cold hour,
The transient light, Imagination's power,
With Knowledge, and with Science in her train,
Not unpropitious Hyems' icy reign
Perceives; since in the deep and silent lour
High themes the rapt concent'ring Thoughts explore,
Freed from external Pleasure's glittering chain.
Then most the understanding's culture pays
Luxuriant harvest, nor shall Folly bring
Her aids obtrusive.--Then, with ardent gaze,
The INGENIOUS to their rich resources spring,
While sullen Winter's dull imprisoning days
Hang on the vacant mind with _flagging_ wing.

_Dec. 7th, 1782._

SONNET XL.

DECEMBER MORNING[1].

I love to rise ere gleams the tardy light,
Winter's pale dawn;--and as warm fires illume,
And cheerful tapers shine around the room,
Thro' misty windows bend my musing sight
Where, round the dusky lawn, the mansions white,
With shutters clos'd, peer faintly thro' the gloom,
That slow recedes; while yon grey spires assume,
Rising from their dark pile, an added height
By indistinctness given.--Then to decree
The grateful thoughts to GOD, ere they unfold
To Friendship, or the Muse, or seek with glee
Wisdom's rich page!--O, hours! more worth than gold,
By whose blest use we lengthen Life, and free
From drear decays of Age, outlive the Old!

_Dec. 19th, 1782._

1: This Sonnet was written in an Apartment of the West Front of the Bishop's Palace at Lichfield, inhabited by the Author from her thirteenth year. It looks upon the Cathedral-Area, a green Lawn encircled by Prebendal Houses, which are white from being rough-cast.

SONNET XLI.

INVITATION TO A FRIEND.

Since dark December shrouds the transient day,
And stormy Winds are howling in their ire,
Why com'st not THOU, who always can'st inspire
The soul of cheerfulness, and best array
A sullen hour in smiles?--O haste to pay
The cordial visit sullen hours require!--
Around the circling walls a glowing fire
Shines;--but it vainly shines in this delay
To blend thy spirit's warm Promethean light.
Come then, at Science', and at Friendship's call,
Their vow'd Disciple;--come, for they invite!
The social Powers without thee languish all.
Come, that I may not hear the winds of Night,
Nor count the heavy eave-drops as they fall.

_Dec. 21st, 1782._

SONNET XLII.

Lo! the YEAR's FINAL DAY!--Nature performs
Its obsequies with darkness, wind, and rain;
But Man is jocund.--Hark! th' exultant strain
From towers and steeples drowns the wintry storms!
No village spire but to the cots and farms,
Right merrily, its scant and tuneless peal
Rings round!--Ah! joy ungrateful!--mirth insane!
Wherefore the senseless triumph, ye, who feel
This annual portion of brief Life the while
Depart for ever?--Brought it no dear hours
Of health and night-rest?--none that saw the smile
On lips belov'd?--O! with as gentle powers
Will the next pass?--Ye pause!--yet careless hear
Strike these last Clocks, that knell th' EXPIRING YEAR!

_Dec. 31st, 1782._

SONNET XLIII.

TO MAY, IN THE YEAR 1783.

My memory, long accustom'd to receive
In deep-engraven lines, each varying trait
Past Times and Seasons wore, can find no date
Thro' many years, O! MAY, when thou hadst leave,
As now, of the great SUN, serene to weave
Thy fragrant chaplets; in poetic state
To call the jocund Hours on thee to wait,
Bringing each day, at morn, at noon, at eve,
His mild illuminations.--Nymph, no more
Is thine to mourn beneath the scanty shade
Of half-blown foliage, shivering to deplore
Thy garlands immature, thy rites unpaid;
Meads dropt with [1]gold again to thee belong,
Soft gales, luxuriant bowers, and wood-land song.

1: Kingcups.

SONNET XLIV.

Rapt CONTEMPLATION, bring thy waking dreams
To this umbrageous vale at noon-tide hour,
While full of _thee_ seems every bending flower,
Whose petals tremble o'er the shadow'd streams!
Give thou HONORA's image, when her beams,
Youth, beauty, kindness, shone;--what time she wore
That smile, of gentle, yet resistless power
To sooth each painful Passion's wild extremes.
Here shall no empty, vain Intruder chase,
With idle converse, thy enchantment warm,
That brings, in all its interest, all its grace,
The dear, persuasive, visionary Form.
Can real Life a rival blessing boast
When thou canst thus restore HONORA early lost?

SONNET XLV.

[1]From Possibility's dim chaos sprung,
High o'er its gloom the Aërostatic Power
Arose!--Exulting Nations hail'd the hour,
Magnific boast of Science!--Loud they sung
Her victory o'er the element, that hung,
Pressing to earth the Beings, who now soar
Aerial heights;--but Wisdom bids explore
This vaunted skill;--if, tides of air among,
We know to _steer_ our bark.--Here Science finds
Her buoyant hopes burst, like the bubble vain,
Type of this art;--guilty, if still she blinds
The sense of Fear; persists thy flame to fan,
Sky-vaulting Pride, that to the aweless winds
Throws, for an idle Show, the LIFE OF MAN!

1: This Sonnet was written when the Balloon enthusiasm was at its height.

SONNET XLVI.

Dark as the silent stream beneath the night,
Thy funeral glides to Life's eternal home,
Child of its narrow house!--how late the bloom,
The facile smile, the soft eye's crystal light,
Each grace of Youth's gay morn, that charms our sight,
Play'd o'er that Form!--now sunk in Death's cold gloom,
Insensate! ghastly!--for the yawning tomb,
Alas! fit Inmate.--Thus we mourn the blight
Of Virgin-Beauty, and endowments rare
In their glad hours of promise.--O! when Age
Drops, like the o'er-blown, faded rose, tho' dear
Its long known worth, no stormy sorrows rage;
But swell when we behold, unsoil'd by time,
Youth's broken Lily perished in its prime.

SONNET XLVII.

ON MR. SARGENT's DRAMATIC POEM,
THE MINE[1].

With lyre Orphean, see a Bard explore
The central caverns of the mornless Night,
Where never Muse perform'd harmonious rite
Till now!--and lo! upon the sparry floor,
Advance, to welcome him, each Sister Power,
Petra, stern Queen, Fossilia, cold and bright,
And call their Gnomes, to marshal in his sight
The gelid incrust, and the veined ore,
And flashing gem.--Then, while his songs pourtray
The mystic virtues gold and gems acquire,
With every charm that mineral scenes display,
Th' imperial Sisters praise the daring Lyre,
And grateful hail its new and powerful lay,
That seats them high amid the Muses' Choir.

1: Petra, and Fossilia, are Personifications of the first and last division of the Fossil Kingdom. The Author of this beautiful Poem supposes the Gnomes to be Spirits of the Mine, performing the behests of Petra and Fossilia, as the Sylphs, Gnomes, Salamanders, &c. appear as Handmaids of the Nymph of Botany in that exquisite sport of Imagination, THE BOTANIC GARDEN.

SONNET XLVIII.

Now young-ey'd Spring, on gentle breezes borne,
'Mid the deep woodlands, hills, and vales, and bowers,
Unfolds her leaves, her blossoms, and her flowers,
Pouring their soft luxuriance on the morn.
O! how unlike the wither'd, wan, forlorn,
And limping Winter, that o'er russet moors,
Grey ridgy fields, and ice-incrusted shores,
Strays!--and commands his rising Winds to mourn.
Protracted Life, thou art ordain'd to wear
A _form_ like his; and, shou'd thy gifts be mine,
I tremble lest a kindred influence drear
Steal on my mind;--but pious Hope benign,
The Soul's bright day-spring, shall avert the fear,
And gild Existence in her dim decline.

SONNET XLIX.

ON THE USE OF NEW AND OLD WORDS IN POETRY.

While with false pride, and narrow jealousy,
Numbers reject each new expression, won,
Perchance, from language richer than our own,
O! with glad welcome may the POET see
Extension's golden vantage! the decree
Each way exclusive, scorn, and re-enthrone
The obsolete, if strength, or grace of tone
Or imagery await it, with a free,
And liberal daring!--For the Critic Train,
Whose eyes severe our verbal stores review,
Let the firm Bard require that they explain
Their _cause_ of censure; then in balance true
Weigh it; but smile at the objections vain
Of sickly Spirits, hating _for they do_[1]!

1: The particle _for_ is used in the same sense with _because_, by Shakespear, and Beaumont and Fletcher.

“But she, and I, were Creatures innocent,
Lov'd _for_ we _did_.” BEA. and FLE. TWO NOBLE KINSMEN.

“----Nor must you think
I will your serious and great business scant
_For_ she is with me.” OTHELLO.

“They're jealous _for_ they're jealous.” OTHELLO.

SONNET L.

In every breast Affection fires, there dwells
A secret consciousness to what degree
They are themselves belov'd.--We hourly see
Th' involuntary proof, that either quells,
Or ought to quell false hopes,--or sets us free
From pain'd distrust;--but, O, the misery!
Weak Self-Delusion timidly repels
The lights obtrusive--shrinks from all that tells
Unwelcome truths, and vainly seeks repose
For startled Fondness, in the opiate balm,
Of kind profession, tho', perchance, it flows
To hush Complaint--O! in Belief's clear calm,
Or 'mid the lurid clouds of Doubt, we find
LOVE rise the Sun, or Comet of the Mind.

SONNET LI.

TO
SYLVIA
ON HER APPROACHING NUPTIALS.

Hope comes to _Youth_, gliding thro' azure skies
With amaranth crown:--her full robe, snowy white,
Floats on the gale, and our exulting sight
Marks it afar.--From _waning_ Life she flies,
Wrapt in a mist, covering her starry eyes
With her fair hand.--But now, in floods of light,
She meets thee, SYLVIA, and with glances, bright
As lucid streams, when Spring's clear mornings rise.
From Hymen's kindling torch, a yellow ray
The shining texture of her spotless vest
Gilds;--and the Month that gives the early day
The scent odōrous[1], and the carol blest,
Pride of the rising Year, enamour'd MAY,
Paints its redundant folds with florets gay.

1: _Odōrous._ Milton, in the Par. Lost, gives the lengthened and harmonious accent to that word, rather than the short, and _common_ one, ōdorous:

----“the bright consummate flower
Spirit odōrous breathes.”

SONNET LII.

Long has the pall of Midnight quench'd the scene,
And wrapt the hush'd horizon.--All around,
In scatter'd huts, Labor, in sleep profound,
Lies stretch'd, and rosy Innocence serene
Slumbers;--but creeps, with pale and starting mien,
Benighted SUPERSTITION.--Fancy-found,
The late self-slaughter'd Man, in earth yet green
And festering, burst from his incumbent mound,
Roams!--and the Slave of Terror thinks he hears
A mutter'd groan!--sees the sunk eye, that glares
As shoots the Meteor.--But no more forlorn
He strays;--the Spectre sinks into his tomb!
For _now_ the jocund Herald of the Morn
Claps his bold wings, and sounds along the gloom[1].

1: “It faded at the crowing of the cock.” HAMLET.

SONNET LIII.

WRITTEN IN THE SPRING 1785 ON THE DEATH OF THE
POET LAUREAT.

The knell of WHITEHEAD tolls!--his cares are past,
The hapless tribute of his purchas'd lays,
His servile, his Egyptian tasks of praise!--
If not sublime his strains, Fame justly plac'd
Their power above their work.--Now, with wide gaze
Of much indignant wonder, she surveys
To the life-labouring oar assiduous haste
A glowing Bard, by every Muse embrac'd.--
O, WARTON! chosen Priest of Phœbus' choir!
Shall thy rapt song be venal? hymn the THRONE,
Whether its edicts just applause inspire,
Or PATRIOT VIRTUE view them with a frown?
What needs for _this_ the golden-stringed Lyre,
The snowy Tunic, and the Sun-bright Zone[1]!

1: Ensigns of Apollo's Priesthood.

SONNET LIV.

A PERSIAN KING TO HIS SON.

FROM A PROSE TRANSLATION IN SIR WILLIAM JONES' ESSAY
ON THE POETRY OF THE EASTERN NATIONS.

Guard thou, my Son, the Helpless and the Poor,
Nor in the chains of thine own indolence
Slumber enervate, while the joys of sense
Engross thee; and thou say'st, “I ask no more.”--
_Wise_ Men the Shepherd's slumber will deplore
When the rapacious Wolf has leapt the fence,
And ranges thro' the fold.--My Son, dispense
Those laws, that justice to the Wrong'd restore.--
The Common-Weal shou'd be the first pursuit
Of the crown'd Warrior, for the royal brows
The People first enwreath'd.--They are the Root,
The King the Tree. Aloft he spreads his boughs
Glorious; but learn, impetuous Youth, at length,
Trees from the Root alone derive their strength.

SONNET LV.

ON THE QUICK TRANSITION FROM WINTER TO SUMMER
IN THE YEAR 1785.

Loud blew the North thro' April's pallid days,
Nor grass the field, nor leaves the grove obtains,
Nor crystal sun-beams, nor the gilded rains,
That bless the hours of promise, gently raise
Warmth in the blood, without that fiery blaze,
Which makes it boil along the throbbing veins.--
Albion, displeas'd, her own lov'd Spring surveys
Passing, with volant step, o'er russet plains;
Sees her to Summer's fierce embraces speed,
Pale, and unrobed.--Faithless! thou well may'st hide
Close in his sultry breast thy recreant head,
That did'st, neglecting thy distinguish'd Isle,
In Winter's icy arms so long abide,
While Britain vainly languish'd for thy smile!

SONNET LVI.

TO A TIMID YOUNG LADY,
DISTRESSED BY THE ATTENTIONS OF AN AMIABLE, AND _ACCEPTED_
LOVER.

What bashful wildness in those crystal eyes,
Fair Zillia!--Ah! more dear to LOVE the gaze
That _dwells_ upon its object, than the rays
Of that vague glance, quick, as in summer skies
The lightning's lambent flash, when neither rise
Thunder, nor storm.--I mark, while transport plays
Warm in thy Lover's eye, what dread betrays
Thy throbbing heart:--yet why from his soft sighs
Fleet'st thou so swift away?--like the young Hind[1],
That bending stands the fountain's brim beside,
When, with a sudden gust, the western wind
Rustles among the boughs that shade the tide:
See, from the stream, innoxious and benign,
Starting she bounds, with terror vain as thine!

1: “Vitas hinnuleo me similis Chloe.” HORACE.

SONNET LVII.

WRITTEN THE NIGHT PRECEDING THE [1]FUNERAL OF
MRS. CHARLES BUCKERIDGE.

In the chill silence of the winter eve,
Thro' Lichfield's darken'd streets I bend my way
By that sad mansion, where NERINA's Clay
Awaits the MORNING KNELL;--and awed perceive,
In the late bridal chamber, the clear ray
Of numerous lights; while o'er the ceiling stray
Shadows of those who frequent pass beneath
Round the PALE DEAD.--What sounds my senses grieve!
For now the busy hammer's stroke appals,
That, “in dread note of preparation,” falls,
Closing the sable lid!--With sighs I bear
These solemn warnings from the House of Woes;
Pondering how late, for young NERINA, there,
Joyous, the Love-illumin'd Morn arose.

1: In Lichfield Cathedral the funeral rites are performed early in the Morning.

SONNET LVIII.

Not the slow Hearse, where nod the sable plumes,
The Parian Statue, bending o'er the Urn,
The dark robe floating, the dejection worn
On the dropt eye, and lip no smile illumes;
Not all this pomp of sorrow, that presumes
It pays Affection's debt, is due concern
To the FOR EVER ABSENT, tho' it mourn
Fashion's allotted time. If Time consumes,
While Life is ours, the precious vestal-flame
Memory shou'd hourly feed;--if, thro' each day,
She with whate'er we see, hear, think, or say,
Blend not the image of the vanish'd Frame,
O! can the alien Heart expect to prove,
In worlds of light and life, a reunited love!

SONNET LIX.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
LADY MARIANNE CARNEGIE,
passing her winters at Ethic House on the Coast of Scotland, with
her Father, Lord Northesk, who retired thither after the death
of his excellent Countess.

WRITTEN FEBRUARY 1787.

Lady, each soft effusion of thy mind,
Flowing thro' thy free pen, shows thee endu'd
With taste so just for all of wise, and good,
As bids me hope thy spirit does not find,
Young as thou art, with solitude combin'd
That wish of change, that irksome lassitude,
Which often, thro' unvaried days, obtrude
On Youth's rash bosom, dangerously inclin'd
To pant for more than peace.--Rich volumes yield
Their soul-endowing wealth.--Beyond e'en these
Shall consciousness of filial duty gild
The gloomy hours, when Winter's turbid Seas
Roar round the rocks; when the dark Tempest lours,
And mourn the Winds round Ethic's lonely towers.

SONNET LX.[1]

Why view'st thou, Edwy, with disdainful mien
The little Naiad of the Downton Wave?
High 'mid the rocks, where her clear waters lave
The circling, gloomy basin.--In such scene,
Silent, sequester'd, few demand, I ween,
That _last_ perfection Phidian chisels gave.
Dimly the soft and musing Form is seen
In the hush'd, shelly, shadowy, lone concave.--
As sleeps her pure, tho' darkling fountain there,
I love to recollect her, stretch'd supine
Upon its mossy brink, with pendent hair,
As dripping o'er the flood.--Ah! well combine
Such gentle graces, modest, pensive, fair,
To aid the magic of her watry shrine.

1: The above Sonnet was addressed to a Friend, who had fastidiously despised, because he did not think it exquisite sculpture, the Statue of a Water-Nymph in Mr. Knight's singular, and beautiful Cold Bath at Downton Castle near Ludlow. It rises amidst a Rotunda, formed by Rocks, and covered with shells, and fossils, in the highest elevation of that mountainous and romantic Scene.

SONNET LXI.

TO MR. HENRY CARY[1],
ON READING HIS SONNETS WRITTEN AT SIXTEEN.

Disciple of the bright Aonian Maid
In thy life's blossom, a resistless spell
Amid the wild wood, and irriguous dell,
O'er thymy hill, and thro' illumin'd glade,
Led thee, for her thy votive wreaths to braid,
Where flaunts the musk-rose, and the azure bell
Nods o'er loquacious brook, or silent well.--
Thus woo'd her inspirations, their rapt aid
Liberal she gave; nor only thro' thy strain
Breath'd their pure spirit, while her charms beguil'd
The languid hours of Sorrow, and of Pain,
But when Youth's tide ran high, and tempting smil'd
Circean Pleasure, rescuing did she stand,
Broke the Enchantress' cup and snapt her wand.

1: Then of Sutton Coldfield.

SONNET LXII.

[1]Dim grows the vital flame in his dear breast
From whom my life I drew;--and thrice has Spring
Bloom'd; and fierce Winter thrice, on darken'd wing,
Howl'd o'er the grey, waste fields, since he possess'd
Or strength of frame, or intellect.----Now bring
Nor Morn, nor Eve, his cheerful steps, that press'd
Thy pavement, LICHFIELD, in the spirit bless'd
Of social gladness. They have fail'd, and cling
Feebly to the fix'd chair, no more to rise
Elastic!--Ah! my heart forebodes that soon
The FULL OF DAYS shall sleep;--nor Spring's soft sighs,
Nor Winter's blast awaken him!--Begun
The twilight!--Night is long!--but o'er his eyes
Life-weary slumbers weigh the pale lids down!

1: When this Sonnet was written, the Subject of it had languished three years beneath repeated paralytic strokes, which had greatly enfeebled his limbs, and impaired his understanding. Contrary to all expectation he survived three more years, subject, through their progress, to the same frequent and dreadful attacks, though in their intervals he was serene and apparently free from pain or sickness.

SONNET LXIII.

TO COLEBROOKE DALE.

Thy GENIUS, Colebrooke, faithless to his charge,
Amid thy woods and vales, thy rocks and streams,
Form'd for the Train that haunt poetic dreams,
Naiads, and Nymphs,--now hears the toiling Barge
And the swart Cyclops ever-clanging forge
Din in thy dells;--permits the dark-red gleams,
From umber'd fires on all thy hills, the beams,
Solar and pure, to shroud with columns large
Of black sulphureous smoke, that spread their veils
Like funeral crape upon the sylvan robe
Of thy romantic rocks, pollute thy gales,
And stain thy glassy floods;--while o'er the globe
To spread thy stores metallic, this rude yell
Drowns the wild woodland song, and breaks the Poet's spell.

SONNET LXIV.

TO MR. HENRY CARY,
ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS SONNETS.

Prais'd be the Poet, who the Sonnet's claim,
Severest of the orders that belong
Distinct and separate to the Delphic Song,
Shall venerate, nor its appropriate name
Lawless assume. Peculiar is its frame,
From him deriv'd, who shunn'd the City Throng,
And warbled sweet thy rocks and streams among,
Lonely Valclusa!--and that Heir of Fame,
Our greater MILTON, hath, by many a lay
Form'd on that arduous model, fully shown
That English Verse may happily display
Those strict energic measures, which alone
Deserve the name of SONNET, and convey
A grandeur, grace and spirit, all their own.

SONNET LXV.

TO THE SAME.

Marcellus, since the ardors of my strain
To thy young eyes and kindling fancy, gleam
With somewhat of the vivid hues, that stream
From Poesy's bright orb, each envious stain
Shed by dull Critics, venal, vex'd and vain,
Seems recompens'd at full;--and so wou'd seem
Did not _maturer_ Sons of Phœbus deem
My verse Aonian.--Thou, in time, shalt gain,
Like them, amid the letter'd World, _that_ sway
Which makes encomium _fame_;--so thou adorn,
Extend, refine and dignify thy lay,
And Indolence, and Syren Pleasure scorn;
Then, at high noon, thy Genius shall display
The splendors promis'd in its shining morn.

SONNET LXVI.

Nobly to scorn thy gilded veil to wear,
Soft Simulation!--wisely to abstain
From fostering Envy's asps;--to dash the bane
Far from our hearts, which Hate, with frown severe,
Extends for those who wrong us;--to revere
With soul, or grateful, or resign'd, the train
Of mercies, and of trials, is to gain
A quiet Conscience, best of blessings here!--
Calm Conscience is a land-encircled bay,
On whose smooth surface Tempests never blow;
Which shall the reflex of our life display
Unstain'd by crime, tho' gloom'd with transient woe;
While the bright hopes of Heaven's eternal day
Upon the fair and silent waters glow.

SONNET LXVII.

ON DOCTOR JOHNSON'S UNJUST CRITICISMS
IN HIS
LIVES OF THE POETS[1].