SONNET XIV.

To the RIVER EMONT, Cumberland.

By CHARLES LLOYD.

Sweet simple stream, the shallow waves that glide
In peaceful murmurs o'er thy stony bed,
Sweet simple stream, the gleams of even tide

That on thy banks their mellowing colours shed, Befit the temper of my restless mind!

For while I hear thy waves and see the gleam Of latest eve, afar from human kind,

To linger here unknown I fondly dream!
I snatch my flute, and breathe a soften'd lay;
Then melting view it as an ONLY FRIEND!
And oft I wonder much that while so gay,

And all unthinking OTHERS onward bend,
I here should sadly linger, and rejoice
To hear a lone stream, or the flute's soft voice

SONNET XV.

To LOCH LOMOND.

By CHARLES LLOYD.

Lomond thy rich and variegated scene,
Fantastic now, now dignified, severe ;
Thy tufted underwood, of darker green

Thine arrowy pines that mock the rolling year;
Thy soft diversity of sweeping bays,

Fring'd with each shrub, and edg'd with tenderest turf,

Where as the attenuated north-gale plays,

The wild flowers mingle with the harmless surf;

Thy long protracted lake expansive now,

(Boldly diversified with wood-crown'd Isles) Imprison'd now by rocks, on whose stern brow,

Clad with cold heath the summer scarcely smiles--I welcome FEARFULLY! and hail in thee

The wildest shapings of sublimity.

SONNET XVI.

TO A WATER NYMPH.

By the late ROBERT LOVELL.

Nymph of the Streamlet, whose pellucid wave
Cheer'd the faint minstrel on his weary way;
For the kind soothe thy genial current gave,
Accept the tribute of his grateful lay.
And oft shall memory's retrospective beam
Reflect the succour of thy glittering tide,
Fond fancy oft review thy genial stream,

And every herb that deck its fertile side.
Oh might my days like thy smooth current flow,
In noiseless course thro' Life's sequester'd scene,

Like thee the boon of plenty to bestow,

Like thee to bless around and bless unseen.

Be mine the joy-I ask no more reward,

To cheer the child of want as thou hast cheer'd the Bard.

SONNET XVII.

Oh I have sat, and fancied every sound

The carriage wheels that brought you to my door, And chid the gust, in whose tempestuous roar Perhaps, I thought, their clatter might be drown'd! And when you came, the joy it was to view

The ready board your presence did so cheer! Me-seem'd the sweetest season of the year Was winter, winter welcome made by you. Far distant now, by Fate's decree controul'd,

Devious I roam, and call the Fates unkind, And all that here my searching eyes behold,

But make me fancy, as you rise to mind, That Nature cast you in a finer mould,

Poole Oysters! than the things that here are sold.

SONNET XVIII.

On leaving a favourite Residence

farewell! and with thee too adieu,

Joys left as soon as tasted! They are gone, Even like some pleasant dream by hasty dawn Scar'd from the lover's pillow fast they flew, And long will they be absent. I meanwhile,

Sooth'd by the memory of the white-arm'd maid With whom among thy moonlight scenes I stray'd, With melancholy minstrelsy beguile

The lonely hour. But me whate'er betide,

Whether on life's tempestuous ocean tost
Hopeless I view the still-retiring coast,
Or my young bark propitious Tritons guide
Through smiling seas;-

-on Her may prosperous Fate

With its long train of changeless raptures, wait!