SONNET.
Pleasant it is awhile to linger here,
Amid the woodlands, listening to the breeze,
That bathes my throbbing temples, to mine ear,
As fitfully it sweeps along the trees,
Moaning not immelodious. Sacred shade!
I would fain dwell in your most dark recess,
Far from the din of folly, where distress,
With dim eye, never more should ask the aid
Not mine to grant. Here would my jaundic’d heart
Soon heal and harmonize: but I again,
Perforce, must sojourn in the haunts of men.
Loth from these lonely, lovely scenes to part,
Alone, in crowds, my solitary breast
Would fain, by apathy, be chill’d to rest.
NEW-YORK: Printed by JOHN TIEBOUT, No. 358, Pearl-Street, for THOMAS BURLING, Jun. & Co. Subscriptions for this Magazine (at 6s. per quarter) are taken in at the Printing-Office, and at the Book-Store of Mr. J. FELLOWS, Pine-Street.