SONNET XV.
WRITTEN ON RISING GROUND NEAR LICHFIELD.
The evening shines in May's luxuriant pride,
And all the sunny hills at distance glow,
And all the brooks, that thro' the valley flow,
Seem liquid gold.—O! had my fate denied
Leisure, and power to taste the sweets that glide
Thro' waken'd minds, as the soft seasons go
On their still varying progress, for the woe
My heart has felt, what balm had been supplied?
But where great Nature smiles, as here she smiles,
'Mid verdant vales, and gently swelling hills,
And glassy lakes, and mazy, murmuring rills,
And narrow wood-wild lanes, her spell beguiles
Th' impatient sighs of Grief, and reconciles
Poetic Minds to Life, with all her ills.
SONNET XVI.
TRANSLATED FROM BOILEAU.
Apollo, at his crowded altars, tir'd
Of Votaries, who for trite ideas thrown
Into loose verse, assume, in lofty tone,
The Poet's name, untaught, and uninspir'd,
Indignant struck the Lyre.—Straight it acquir'd
New powers, and complicate. Then first was known
The rigorous Sonnet, to be fram'd alone
By duteous Bards, or by just Taste admir'd.—
Go, energetic Sonnet, go, he cried,
And be the test of skill!—For rhymes that flow
Regardless of thy rules, their destin'd guide,
Yet take thy name, ah! let the boasters know
That with strict sway my jealous laws preside,
While I no wreaths on rebel verse bestow.
SONNET XVII.
Ah! why have I indulg'd my dazzled sight
With scenes in Hope's delusive mirror shown?
Scenes, that too seldom human Life has known
In kind accomplishment;—but O! how bright
The rays, that gilded them with varied light
Alternate! oft swift flashing on the boon
That might at Fame's immortal shrine be won;
Then shining soft on tender Love's delight.—
Now, with stern hand, Fate draws the sable veil
O'er the frail glass!—Hope, as she turns away,
The darken'd crystal drops.——Heavy and pale,
Rain-pouring clouds quench all the darts of day;
Low mourns the wind along the gloomy dale,
And tolls the Death-bell in the pausing gale.