B SONNET. [LOVE'S SILENCE.] ECAUSE I breathe not love to everie one, Nor do not use set colours for to weare, Nor nourish special locks of vowèd haire, Nor give each speech a full point of a groan; The courtlie nymphs, acquainted with the moan Of them who in their lips Love's standard beare, "What, he?" say they of me, "now I dare sweare He cannot love! No, no, let him alone." 66 And think so still! if Stella know my minde. But you, fair maids, at length this true shall finde, TE EARS, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That sinks with all we love below the verge, Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; Dear as remember'd kisses after death, TO MY SISTER. WRITTEN AT A SMALL DISTANCE FROM MY HOUSE, AND SENT BY MY LITTLE BOY. T is the first mild day of March: IT Each minute sweeter than before The redbreast sings from the tall larch There is a blessing in the air, Which seems a sense of joy to yield My Sister! ('tis a wish of mine) Now that our morning meal is done, Edward will come with you;-and, pray, No joyless forms shall regulate We from to-day, my Friend, will date Love, now a universal birth, From heart to heart is stealing, One moment now may give us more Some silent laws our hearts will make, And from the blessed power that rolls About, below, above, We'll frame the measure of our souls: Then come, my Sister! come, I pray, WORDSWORTH. YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. (A NAVAL ODE.) E mariners of England, YE That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, While the stormy tempests blow ; The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave! Your manly hearts shall glow, Britannia needs no bulwark, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain waves With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below As they roar on the shore When the stormy tempests blow ; The meteor flag of England Till danger's troubled night depart, When the storm has ceased to blow ; CAMPBELL. CY SONNET. TO CYRIACK SKINNER. YRIACK, this three years' day these eyes, To outward view, of blemish or of spot, Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask? The conscience, friend, to have lost them over plied N |