SONNET VIII.
TRANSLATION.
Short is the time the oldest Being lives,
Nor has Longevity one hour to waste;
Life's duties are proportion'd to the haste
With which it fleets away;—each day receives
Its task, that if neglected, surely gives
The morrow double toil.—Ye, who have pass'd
In idle sport the days that fled so fast,
Days, that nor Grief recalls, nor Care retrieves,
At length be wise, and think, that of the part
Remaining in that vital period given,
How short the date, and at the prospect start,
Ere to the extremest verge your steps be driv'n!
Nor let a moment unimprov'd depart,
But view it as the latest trust of Heav'n!
SONNET IX.
Seek not, my Lesbia, the sequester'd dale,
Or bear thou to its shades a tranquil heart;
Since rankles most in solitude the smart
Of injur'd charms and talents, when they fail
To meet their due regard;—nor e'en prevail
Where most they wish to please:—Yet, since thy part
Is large in Life's chief blessings, why desert
Sullen the world?—Alas! how many wail
Dire loss of the best comforts Heaven can grant!
While they the bitter tear in secret pour,
Smote by the death of Friends, Disease, or Want,
Slight wrongs if thy self-valuing soul deplore,
Thou but resemblest, in thy lonely haunt,
Narcissus pining on the watry shore.
SONNET X.
TO
HONORA SNEYD.
Honora, shou'd that cruel time arrive
When 'gainst my truth thou should'st my errors poize,
Scorning remembrance of our vanish'd joys;
When for the love-warm looks, in which I live,
But cold respect must greet me, that shall give
No tender glance, no kind regretful sighs;
When thou shalt pass me with averted eyes,
Feigning thou see'st me not, to sting, and grieve,
And sicken my sad heart, I cou'd not bear
Such dire eclipse of thy soul-cheering rays;
I cou'd not learn my struggling heart to tear
From thy lov'd form, that thro' my memory strays;
Nor in the pale horizon of Despair
Endure the wintry and the darken'd days.