Nor think it aught a misnomer To christen Chaucer's busto Homer, [know, Because they both have beards, which, you Will mark them well from Joan, and Juno,) For some great man, I could not tell But NECK might answer just as well, So perch'd it up, all in a row Then all around in just degree, With these fair dames, and heroes round, For though confined, 'twill well contain Thus, though my heart may seem so small, No more may Heaven her blessings give, TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE. MILD offspring of a dark and sullen sire! And cradled in the winds. Thee when young Spring first question'd Winter's sway, And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight, Thee on this bank he threw To mark his victory. In this low vale, the promise of the year, Thy tender elegance. So virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms Of chill adversity, in some lone walk Of life she rears her head, Obscure and unobserved; While every bleaching breeze that on her blows, Chastens her spotless purity of breast, And hardens her to bear Serene the ills of life. SONNETS. SONNET I. To the River Trent. Written on Recovery from Sickness. ONCE more, O Trent! along thy pebbly marge From the close sick-room newly let at large, Which fills with joy the throstle's little throat! And all the sounds which on the fresh breeze sail, How wildly novel on his senses float! It was on this that many a sleepless night, As, lone, he watch'd the taper's sickly gleam, And at his casement heard, with wild affright, The owl's dull wing and melancholy scream, On this he thought, this, this his sole desire, Thus once again to hear the warbling woodland choir. SONNET II. GIVE me a cottage on some Cambrian wild, Where, far from cities, I may spend my days, And, by the beauties of the scene beguiled, May pity man's pursuits, and shun his ways. While on the rock I mark the browsing goat, I shall not want the world's delusive joys; Shall think my lot complete, nor covet more; And when, with time, shall wane the vital fire, I'll raise my pillow on the desert shore, And lay me down to rest where the wild wave Shall make sweet music o'er my lonely grave. SONNET III.* Supposed to have been addressed by a female lunatic to a Lady. LADY, thou weepest for the Maniac's wo, And thou art fair, and thou, like me, art young; Oh! may thy bosom never, never know [wrung. The pangs with which my wretched heart is I had a mother once-a brother too (Beneath yon yew my father rests his head:) I had a lover once,-and kind, and true, But mother, brother, lover, all are fled! The green sod soon upon my breast will lie, * This Quatorzain had its rise from an elegant Sonnnet, "occasioned by seeing a young Female Lunatic," written by Mrs. Lofft, and published in the Monthly Mirror. Go thou and pluck the roses while they bloomMy hopes lie buried in the silent tomb. SONNET IV. Supposed to be written by the unhappy Poet Dermody, in a Storm, while on board a Ship in his Majesty's Service. Lo! o'er the welkin the tempestuous clouds View the drear tempest, and the yawning deep, SONNET V. THE WINTER TRAVELLER. GOD help thee, Traveller, on thy journey far; The wind is bitter keen, the snow o'erlays The hidden pits, and dangerous hollow ways, And darkness will involve thee.-No kind star |