And, tiring soon of earth, whose breath was pain,
Longed to return, and be at rest again.
Too pure for earth, too innocent for grief,
Sweet was her promise, as her sojourn brief.
SONNET.
TO HAPPINESS.
Oh! I do hail thee, Happiness, when thou
Dost shine athwart my path with light and love,
Dispensing joy, like Heaven's aërial bow,