The Contrast of Yesterday, and To-day; supposed to be written on the Summit of Snowdon.
How gay was yesterday!—no storm was heard
To mutter round thy steep! yon sun arose
With golden splendour, and in still repose
Nature majestic thro’ her works appear’d.
To-day, how chang’d!—loud howls the hollow blast!
The thin mists undulate! thy tow’ring height
Is veil’d in tempest, and eternal night!
So ’tis with man! contrasting prospects past
With dreams of future happiness—to-day
In gallant trim his little bark may glide,
On the smooth current of the tranquil tide:
To-morrow comes!—the gathering storms display
A sad vicissitude—the whirlwind’s sweep,
Grasps at his prey, and whelms it in the deep.
SONNET III.
On leaving Wales.
Why bursts the tear, as Cambria, now I leave
Thy wild variety of hill and dale,
Where fancy, fond intruder, lingers still?
Why do these parting sighs my bosom heave?
’Tis, that alas! I ne’er may view again
Those haunts, those solitary scenes I love;
But thro’ this vale of tears forsaken rove,
And taste the sad vicissitude of pain?
’Tis, that I sadly breathe a warm adieu,
To long-lost scenes of mutual amity;
’Tis, that I turn, my absent friend, to thee,
“Think on past pleasures, and solicit new!”
For thee my fervent pray’rs to Heav’n ascend,
And may we meet again as friend to friend.
SONNET IV.
To the Welsh Harp.
Lov’d instrument! again repeat those sounds,
Those plaintive airs, that thro’ my senses steal,
With melancholy sweet. Their pow’r I feel
Soothing my sadness, healing sorrow’s wounds.
Gently thou lull’st my sufferings to repose,
Inclin’st my heart to ev’ry virtuous deed,
Removing from my mind each dark’ning shade
That clouds my days, increasing all my woes.
Now swelling with the breeze, along thy vales,
Romantic Cambria! the strain I hear,
Then dying soft away, comes o’er my ear
In whispers soft, still wafted by thy gales!
Lov’d instrument! again repeat those sounds,
Soothing my sadness, healing sorrow’s wounds.
SONNET V.
Supposed to be written by Moon-light, on the Sea-shore, at Tenbigh.