SONNET LXXXII.
From a riv'd Tree, that stands beside the grave
Of the Self-slaughter'd, to the misty Moon
Calls the complaining Owl in Night's pale noon;
And from a hut, far on the hill, to rave
Is heard the angry Ban-Dog. With loud wave
The rous'd and turbid River surges down,
Swoln with the mountain-rains, and dimly shown
Appals the Sense.—Yet see! from yonder cave,
Her shelter in the recent, stormy showers,
With anxious brow, a fond expecting Maid
Steals towards the flood!—Alas!—for now appears
Her Lover's vacant boat!—the broken oars
Roll down the tide!—What images invade!
Aghast she stands, the Statue of her fears!
SONNET LXXXIII.
ON CATANIA AND SYRACUSE
SWALLOWED UP BY EARTHQUAKE.
FROM THE ITALIAN OF FILACAJA.
Here, from laborious Art, proud Towns, ye rose!
Here, in an instant, sunk!—nor ought remains
Of all ye were!—on the wide, lonely plains
Not e'en a stone, that might these words disclose,
“Here stood Catania;”—or whose surface shows
That this was Syracuse:—but louring reigns
A trackless DESOLATION.—Dim Domains!
Pale, mournful Strand! how oft, with anxious throes,
Seek I sad relics, which no spot supplies!—
A Silence—a fix'd Horror sears my soul,
Arrests my foot!—Dread Doom of human crimes,
What art thou?—Ye o'erwhelmed Cities, rise!
That your terrific skeletons may scowl
Portentous warning to succeeding Times!
SONNET LXXXIV.
While one sere leaf, that parting Autumn gilds,
Trembles upon the thin, and naked spray,
November, dragging on his sunless day,
Lours, cold and fallen, on the watry fields;
And Nature to the waste dominion yields,
Stript her last robes, with gold and purple gay.—
So droops my life, of your soft beams despoil'd,
Youth, Health, and Hope, that long exulting smil'd;
And the wild carols, and the bloomy hues
Of merry Spring-time, spruce on every plain
Her half-blown bushes, moist with sunny rain,
More pensive thoughts in my sunk heart infuse
Than Winter's grey, and desolate domain,
Faded, like my lost Youth, that no bright Spring renews.
SONNET LXXXV.
TO MARCH.