SONNET IX. PALE Roamer through the night! thou poor Forlorn! Remorse that man on his death-bed possess, Who in the credulous hour of tenderness Betrayed, then cast thee forth to want and scorn! Thy Loves and they, that envied thee, deride: SONNET X. SWEET Mercy! how my very heart has bled That mocks thy shivering! take my garment-use My Sara too shall tend thee, like a Child: And thou shalt talk, in our fireside's recess, Of purple pride, that scowls on wretchedness. He did not so, the Galilean mild, Who met the Lazars turned from rich men's doors, And called them Friends, and healed their noisome sores ! SONNET XI. THOU bleedest, my poor Heart! and thy distress And probe thy sore wound sternly, though the while Why didst thou listen to Hope's whisper bland? Faint was that Hope, and rayless!-Yet 'twas fair, Even as a Mother her sweet infant heir SCHILLER! that hour I would have wished to die, Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood Beneath some vast old tempest-swinging wood! LINES COMPOSED WHILE CLIMBING THE LEFT ASCENT OF BROCKLEY COOMB, SOMERSETSHIRE, MAY, 1795. WITH many a pause and oft-reverted eye I climb the Coomb's ascent: sweet songsters near That on green plots o'er precipices browse: The Yew tree bursts! Beneath its dark green boughs My gaze! Proud to vers, and cots more dear to me, LINES IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER. O PEACE, that on a lilied bank dost love Who vowed to meet her ere the morning light, But broke my plighted word-ah! false and recreant wight! Last night as I my weary head did pillow With thoughts of my dissevered Fair engrost, Chill Fancy drooped wreathing herself with willow, As though my breast entombed a pining ghost. "From some blest couch, young Rapture's bridal boast, Rejected Slumber! hither wing thy way; But leave me with the matin hour, at most! As night-closed floweret to the orient ray, My sad heart will expand, when I the Maid survey." But Love, who heard the silence of my thought, Too long our Slave the Damsel's smiles hath seen: He spake, and ambushed lay, till on my bed When as I 'gan to lift my drowsy head— Now, Bard! I'll work thee woe!" the laughing Elfin said. Sleep, softly-breathing God! his downy wing Was fluttering now, as quickly to depart; When twanged an arrow from Love's mystic string, Or did he strike my couch with wizard lance? (No fairer decked the bowers of old Romance) That Sleep enamored grew, nor moved from his sweet trance! My Sara came, with gentlest look divine; Bright shone her eye, yet tender was its beam: I felt the pressure of her lip to mine! Whispering we went, and Love was all our theme Love pure and spotless, as at first, I deem, He sprang from Heaven! Such joys with Sleep did 'bide That I the living image of my dream, Fondly forgot. Too late I woke, and sigh'd- IMITATED FROM OSSIAN. THE stream with languid murmur creeps, In Lumin's flowery vale : Beneath the dew the Lily weeps Slow-waving to the gale. "Cease, restless gale! it seems to say, The honors of my vernal day "To-morrow shall the Traveller come With eager gaze and wetted cheek My wonted haunts along, Thus, faithful Maiden! thou shalt seek But I along the breeze shall roll And dwell, the Moon-beam of thy soul, THE COMPLAINT OF NINATHOMA. How long will ye round me be swelling, Nor beneath the cold blast of the tree. And they blessed the white-bosomed Maid! A Ghost by my cavern it darted! When they visit the dreams of my rest! IMITATED FROM THE WELSH. IF, while my passion I impart, Ah no! reject the thoughtless claim That thrilling touch would aid the flame, |