Original sonnets on various subjects; and odes paraphrased from Horace Part 11

SONNET XCI.

On the fleet streams, the Sun, that late arose, In amber radiance plays;--the tall young gra.s.s No foot hath bruis'd;--clear Morning, as I pa.s.s, Breathes the pure gale, that on the blossom blows; And, as with gold yon green hill's summit glows, The lake inlays the vale with molten gla.s.s.-- Now is the Year's soft youth;--yet me, alas!

Cheers not as it was wont;--impending woes _Weigh_ on my heart;--the joys, that once were mine, Spring leads not back;--and those that yet remain Fade while she blooms.--Each hour more lovely s.h.i.+ne Her crystal beams, and feed her floral Train; But ah with pale, and waning fires, decline Those eyes, whose light my filial hopes sustain.

SONNET XCII.

Behold that Tree, in Autumn's dim decay, Stript by the frequent, chill, and eddying Wind; Where yet some yellow, lonely leaves we find Lingering and trembling on the naked spray, Twenty, perchance, for millions whirl'd away!

Emblem, alas! too just, of Humankind!

Vain MAN expects longevity, design'd For few indeed; and their protracted day What is it worth that Wisdom does not scorn?

The blasts of Sickness, Care, and Grief appal, That laid the Friends in dust, whose natal morn Rose near their own;--and solemn is the call;-- Yet, like those weak, deserted leaves forlorn, s.h.i.+vering they cling to life, and fear to fall!

SONNET XCIII.

Yon soft Star, peering o'er the sable cloud, Sheds its [1]green l.u.s.tre thro' the darksome air.-- Haply in that mild Planet's crystal sphere Live the freed Spirits, o'er whose timeless shroud Swell'd my lone sighs, my tearful sorrows flow'd.

They, of these long regrets perhaps aware, View them with pitying smiles.--O! then, if e'er Your guardian cares may be on me bestow'd, For the pure friends.h.i.+p of our youthful days, Ere yet ye soar'd from earth, illume my heart, That roves bewilder'd in Dejection's night, And lead it back to peace!--as now ye dart, From your pellucid mansion, the kind rays, That thro' misleading darkness stream so bright.

1: The l.u.s.tre of the brightest of the Stars always appeared to me of a green hue; and they are so described by Ossian.

SONNET XCIV.

All is not right with him, who ill sustains Retirement's silent hours.--Himself he flies, Perchance from that insipid equipoise, Which always with the hapless mind remains That feels no native bias; never gains One energy of will, that does not rise From some external cause, to which he hies From his own blank inanity.--When reigns, With a strong, _cultur'd_ mind, this wretched hate To commune with himself, from thought that tells Of some lost joy, or dreaded stroke of Fate He struggles to escape;--or sense that dwells On secret guilt towards G.o.d, or Man, with weight Thrice dire, the self-exiling flight impels.

SONNET XCV.

On the damp margin of the sea-beat sh.o.r.e Lonely at eve to wander;--or reclin'd Beneath a rock, what time the rising wind Mourns o'er the waters, and, with solemn roar, Vast billows into caverns surging pour, And back recede alternate; while combin'd Loud shriek the sea-fowls, harbingers a.s.sign'd, Clamorous and fearful, of the stormy hour; To listen with deep thought those awful sounds; Gaze on the boiling, the tumultuous waste, Or promontory rude, or craggy mounds Staying the furious main, delight has cast O'er my rapt spirit, and my thrilling heart, Dear as the softer joys green vales impart.

SONNET XCVI.

The breathing freshness of the s.h.i.+ning Morn, Whose beams glance yellow on the distant fields, A sweet, unutterable pleasure yields To my dejected sense, that turns with scorn From the light joys of Dissipation born.

Sacred Remembrance all my bosom s.h.i.+elds Against each glittering lance she gaily wields, Warring with fond Regrets, that silent mourn The Heart's dear comforts lost.--But, NATURE, thou, Thou art resistless still;--and yet I ween Thy present balmy gales, and vernal blow, To MEMORY owe the magic of their scene; For with such fragrant breath, such orient rays, Shone the soft mornings of my youthful days.

SONNET XCVII.

TO A COFFIN-LID.

Thou silent Door of our eternal sleep, Sickness, and pain, debility, and woes, All the dire train of ills Existence knows, Thou shuttest out FOR EVER!--Why then weep This fix'd tranquillity,--so long!--so deep!

In a dear FATHER's clay-cold Form?--where rose No energy, enlivening Health bestows, Thro' many a tedious year, that us'd to creep In languid deprivation; while the flame Of intellect, resplendent once confess'd, Dark, and more dark, each pa.s.sing day became.

Now that angelic lights the SOUL invest, Calm let me yield to _thee_ a joyless Frame, THOU SILENT DOOR OF EVERLASTING REST.

_Lichfield, March 1790._

SONNET XCVIII.

Since my griev'd mind some energy regains, Industrious habits can, at times, repress The weight of filial woe, the deep distress Of life-long separation; yet its pains, Oft do they throb along these fever'd veins.-- My rest has lost its balm, the fond caress Wont the dear aged forehead to impress At midnight, as he slept;--nor now obtains My uprising the blest news, that cou'd impart Joy to the morning, when its dawn had brought Some health to that weak Frame, o'er which my heart With fearful fondness yearn'd, and anxious thought.-- Time, and the HOPE that robs the mortal Dart Of its fell sting, shall cheer me--as they ought.

SONNET XCIX.

ON THE VIOLENT THUNDER STORMS.

DECEMBER 1790.

Remorseless WINTER! in thy iron reign Comes the loud whirlwind, on thy pinion borne; The _long long_ night,--the tardy, leaden morn; The grey frost, riv'ling lane, and hill, and plain; Chill silent snows, and heavy, pattering rain.

These are thy _known_ allies;--and Life forlorn, Yet patient, droops, nor breathes repinings vain; But now, Usurper, thou hast madly torn From Summer's hand his stores of angry sway; His rattling thunders with thy winds unite, On thy pale snows those livid lightnings play, That pour their deathful splendors o'er his night, To poise the pleasures of his golden day, Soft gales, blue skies, and long-protracted light.

SONNET C.

WRITTEN DECEMBER 1790.

Lyre of the Sonnet, that full many a time Amus'd my la.s.situde, and sooth'd my pains, When graver cares forbade the _lengthen'd_ strains, To thy brief bound, and oft-returning chime A long farewell!--the splendid forms of Rhyme When Grief in lonely orphanism reigns, Oppress the drooping Soul.--DEATH's dark domains Throw mournful shadows o'er the Aonian clime; For in their silent bourne my filial bands Lie all dissolv'd;--and swiftly-wasting pour From my frail gla.s.s of life, health's sparkling sands.

Sleep then, my LYRE, thy tuneful tasks are o'er, Sleep! for my heart bereav'd, and listless hands Wake with rapt touch thy glowing strings no more!