SONNET XIX. On the same subject. Groves, that of late I lov'd so well, adieu! 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 Hark to the sailors shouts! the rocks rebound 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 dappled sky, the screech-owl's cry, An iron window in the tower, And the rusty chains were ringing! With footsteps quick, and feverish heat, Poor Jasper, sad, alone, and MAD! His cheek was wan, his lip was blue, 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 For misery keen his lot had been His tyrant Father's dwelling. That Father, who, with Lordly pride Saw her pale cheek in silence speak, "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, Hark! 'tis the She-Wolf howling by! While storms shall sweep the mountain's steep |