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SONNET XIX.

On the same subject.

Groves, that of late I lov'd so well, adieu!
Dear to my soul, accept its parting sigh:
Yet oft shall Memory your lost shades review,
Still shall you flourish to her faithful eye.
There was a time when through your bowers to rove,
And with untutor'd fingers touch the lyre;

My breast, unvisited of other love,

Than such as Phæbus and his train inspire, Delighted me. Ah! time of bliss, return With healing on thy wings! in vain I cry : Destin'd in hopeless misery to mourn,

In vain I roam beneath another sky; And 'inid new scenes the fugitive explore, For joy shall solace this sad heart no more.

SONNET XX.

She comes majestic with her swelling sails
The gallant bark; along her watery way
Homeward she drives before the favouring gales ;-
Now floating at their length the streamers play
And now they ripple with the ruffling breeze.
Hark to the sailors shouts! the rocks rebound
Thundering in echoes to the joyful sound.
Long have they voyaged o'er the distant seas,
And what a heart-delight they feel at last,
So many toils, so many dangers past,
To view the port desired, he only knows
Who on the stormy deep for many a day
Has tost, aweary of his ocean way,

And watch'd all anxious every wind that blows.

JASPER,

By Mrs. ROBINSON.

The night was long, 'twas Winter time
The moon shone pale and clearly;
The woods were bare, the nipping air
Across the heath, as cold as death,
Blew shrilly, and severely.

And awful was the midnight scene
The silent river flowing;

The dappled sky, the screech-owl's cry,
The black'ning tower, the haunted bower,
Where pois'nous weeds were growing.

An iron window in the tower,
Slow creek'd as it was swinging ;
And a gibbet stood, beside the wood,
And the blast did blow it, to and fro,

And the rusty chains were ringing!

With footsteps quick, and feverish heat,
One tatter'd garment wearing,

Poor Jasper, sad, alone, and MAD!
Now chanted wild and now he smiled,
With eyes wide-fixed and glaring.

His cheek was wan, his lip was blue,
His head was bare and shaggy;
His limbs were torn, with many a thorn,
For he had paced the pathless waste,
And climb'd the steep-rock craggy、

His voice was hollow as the tone

Of cavern'd winds, and mournful; No tears could flow to calm his woe, Yet, on his face, sate manly grace,

And grief, sublimely scornful!

Twelve freezing nights poor Jasper's breast
Had brav'd the tempests' yelling;

For misery keen his lot had been
Since he had left, of sense bereft,

His tyrant Father's dwelling.

That Father, who, with Lordly pride
Saw him from Mary sever;

Saw her pale cheek in silence speak,
Her eye's blue light, so heavenly bright!
Grow dim and fade for ever!

"How hot yon Sun begins to shine!”
The Maniac cried, loud laughing.
"I feel the pain that burns my brain,
Thy sulphur beam, bids ocean steam,
Where all the Fiends are quaffing!

Soft, soft, the dew begins to rise,
I'll drink it while 'tis flowing :
Down every tree the bright rills see,
Quick let me sip, they'll cool my lip,
For now my blood is glowing.

Hark! 'tis the She-Wolf howling by!
Poor Jasper smiles to hear thee!
For he can hide by the hedge-row's side,

While storms shall sweep the mountain's steep
Then She-Wolf, can he fear thee?

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