SONNET BY THE SAME. THE Lord of life shakes off his drowsihed, Proud City! and thy sons I leave behind, A sordid, selfish, money-getting kind; Brute things, who shut their ears when Freedom calls. I pass not thee so lightly, well-known spire, That minded me of many a pleasure gone, Of merrier days, of love and Islington; Kindling afresh the flames of past desire. And I shall muse on thee, slow journeying on, To the green plains of pleasant Hertfordshire. SONNET TO LOVE. THOUGH doom'd, alas! to shed th' unpitied tear, The tear, the sigh, by thee inspir'd, be mine: Whose sullen influence chills thy flame divine. Lord of my soul! I would not change thy woes, For such cold, lifeless calm, as Apathy bestows! R. A. D. SONNET TO THE EOLIAN HARP. WILD Harp! at midnight's awe-inspiring hour, Full-fraught with rapture, on the gale now floats On my tranced ear congenial music flings, That calls, responsive, from my breast the sigh. R. A. D. SONNET, WRITTEN NEAR AN OLD MANSION AT MIDNIGHT. Ye spiry turrets! ye embattled walls! On which destroying Time full-long hath frown'd, While on your dusky crest the moon-beam falls, Pensive I stray your mournful splendours round; And, oft awak'd from musing, list the sound Of the far distant bell, or the shrill tone That breaks from yon dark grove, with vapours crown'd, Where, while the breezes mid the foliage moan, R. A. D. 1796. VOL. VIII. r f SONNET, ON THE MISS SYS ENTERTAINING THE COMPANY AT HIGH LAKE WITH MUSIC IN THE CHRISTMAS OF 1795. WHEN, dank and dripping, through the desert waste In sad despondence roy'd the shipwreck'd train, And, inly musing on their dangers past, With speechless terror ey'd the foaming main- And gently shed the balm of tranquil joy And darksome melancholy clouds his mind: wings. W. SHEPHERD. |