SONNET.
Thou fading mount, whose variegated brow
The rage of rude autumnal blasts betrays,
How justly emblematical art thou
Of life’s dire changes, and its sad decays.
When on the pensive visage time pourtrays
His stealing languor, and the sickning heart,
Dead to the smiles of joy, and charms of art,
To blooming hope, and pleasure’s soft controul,
No more with sweet emotion can impart
A gleam of comfort to the chearless soul;
Still holds the allusion when thy honours bow
Beneath the early storm’s despoiling rage,
And sad affliction, life consuming woe,
Forestals the influence of declining age.
MATILDA.
Montreal.
