SONNET. As thus oppress'd with many a heavy care Fills my sad breast; and, tired with this vain coil, I shrink dismay'd before life's upland toil. And as amid the leaves, the evening air Whispers still melody,—I think ere long, When I no more can hear, these woods will speak; And then a sad smile plays upon my cheek, And mournful phantasies upon me throng, And I do ponder with most strange delight, On the calm slumbers of the dead man's night. SONNET TO APRIL. EMBLEM of life! see changeful April sail And pouring from the cloud her sudden hail; So, to us, sojourners in life's low vale, The smiles of fortune flatter to deceive, While still the fates the web of misery weave. So Hope exultant spreads her aëry sail, And from the present gloom the soul conveys To distant summers and far happier days. SONNET. YE unseen spirits, whose wild melodies, His tired frame resting on the earth's cold bed; Hold ye your nightly vigils o'er his head, And chant a dirge to his reposing shade! For he was wont to love your madrigals; And often by the haunted stream, that laves The dark sequester'd woodland's inmost caves, Would sit and listen to the dying falls, Till the full tear would quiver in his eye, And his big heart would heave with mournful ecstasy. SONNET TO A TAPER. 'Tis midnight. On the globe dead slumber sits, And all is silence-in the hour of sleep; Save when the hollow gust, that swells by fits, To watch my taper, thy pale beacon burn; To think of days that never can return. By thy pale ray I raise my languid head, My eye surveys the solitary gloom; And the sad meaning tear, unmix'd with dread, Tells thou dost light me to the silent tomb. Like thee I wane ;-like thine my life's last ray Will fade in loneliness, unwept, away. SONNET TO MY MOTHER. AND canst thou, Mother, for a moment think That we, thy children, when old age shall shed Its blanching honours on thy weary head, Could from our best of duties ever shrink? Sooner the sun from his high sphere should sink Than we, ungrateful, leave thee in that day, To pine in solitude thy life away, Or shun thee, tottering on the grave's cold brink. Banish the thought!-where'er our steps may roam, SONNET. YES, 'twill be over soon.-This sickly dream Yon landscape smile, yon golden harvest grow, They laugh in health, and future evils brave; Them shall a wife and smiling children bless, While I am mouldering in the silent grave. God of the just, Thou gavest the bitter cup; I bow to thy behest, and drink it up. SONNET TO CONSUMPTION. GENTLY, most gently, on thy victim's head, And if 'tis true what holy men have said, Whisper the solemn warning in mine ear; SONNET. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF M. DESBARREAUX. THY judgments, Lord, are just; thou lovest to wear Did from mine eyes the endless torrents flow; Smite it is time-though endless death ensue, I bless the avenging hand that lays me low. But on what spot shall fall thine anger's flood, That has not first been drench'd in Christ's atoning blood? |