Sam Sam’s Son.
SONNET
For the Table Book.
The snowdrop, rising to its infant height,
Looks like a sickly child upon the spot
Of young nativity, regarding not
The air’s caress of melody and light
Beam’d from the east, and soften’d by the bright
Effusive flash of gold:—the willow stoops
And muses, like a bride without her love,
On her own shade, which lies on waves, and droops
Beside the natal trunk, nor looks above:—
The precipice, that torrents cannot move,
Leans o’er the sea, and steadfast as a rock,
Of dash and cloud unconscious, bears the rude
Continuous surge, the sounds and echoes mock:
Thus Mental Thought enduring, wears in solitude.
1827. *, *, P.