SONNET XIII.
TO SENSIBILITY.
I'll court thy lone bow'r, Sensibility!
And mark thy lovely form, wild waving hair,
Thy loosely flowing robe, thy languid eye,
And all those charms which blend to make thee fair.
Far from the madding crowd thou lov'st to stray
Recluse, and listen at the silent hour,
When wildly warbling from her secret bow'r
The pensive night-bird pours her evening lay.
'Tis thine own minstrel's melody is heard,
And as her sad song, by the moon's still beam,
Dies softly on mine ear, more sweet I deem
Her mournful note than song of blither bird;
So more than beauty's cheek of vermeil dye
Charms thy soft downcast mein and tear-dew'd eye.
MOSCHUS.
SONNET XIV.
TO HEALTH.
Nymph of the splendent eye and rosy cheek,
Who erst from courts and luxury didst speed,
And with thine elder sister, Temperance, seek
The woodbin'd cottage on the daisied mead;
There will I woo thee, for thou dwellest there
Amid the sons of industry; thy smile
Soothes every sorrow, cheers the hour of toil,
And, blest by thee, sweet is their frugal fare.
When the woods echo with the early horn
Thou trip'st the wild heath, clad in flowing vest,
(While youthful zephyr wantons o'er thy breast)
And, with blithe song, dost greet the blushing morn;
The airy sprite, who o'er thy fair form roves,
Thy beauty tastes, and, as he tastes, improves.
MOSCHUS.
SONNET XV.
TO THE NIGHTINGALE.
Sad songstress of the night, no more I hear
Thy soften'd warblings meet my pensive ear,
As by thy wonted haunts again I rove;
Why art thou silent? wherefore sleeps thy lay?
For faintly fades the sinking orb of day,
And yet thy music charms no more the grove.
The shrill bat flutters by; from yon dark tower
The shrieking owlet hails the shadowy hour;
Hoarse hums the beetle as he drones along,
The hour of love is flown! thy full-fledg'd brood
No longer need thy care to cull their food,
And nothing now remains to prompt the song:
But drear and sullen seems the silent grove,
No more responsive to the lay of love.