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Poems

Namely, The English Orator; An Address to Thomas Pennant Sonnets; An Epistle to a College Friend; and The Lock Transformed. With notes on The English Orator. By Mr. Polwhele
Polwhele, Richard (1760-1838)

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ADDRESS to THOMAS PENNANT, Esq.
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SONNETS.
 1. 
SONNET the FIRST. To Laura. Written 1782.
 2. 
SONNET the SECOND. On being prevented, by a sudden Shower, from meeting Laura. Written 1782.
 3. 
SONNET the THIRD. To his Wife. Written 1784.
 4. 
SONNET the FOURTH. To the same. Written 1784.
 5. 
SONNET the FIFTH. Written at Mamhead, beneath an Evergreen Oak—May, 1785.
 6. 
SONNET the SIXTH. Written at the Belvidere—Powderham, May, 1785.
 7. 
SONNET the SEVENTH.
 8. 
SONNET the EIGHTH.
 9. 
SONNET the NINTH.
 10. 
SONNET the TENTH.
 11. 
SONNET the ELEVENTH.
 12. 
SONNET the TWELFTH.
 13. 
SONNET the THIRTEENTH.
 14. 
SONNET the FOURTEENTH.
 17. 
SONNET the SEVENTEENTH. To Mr. Pratt, on reading his “Landscapes in Verse.” Written September, 1785.
 18. 
SONNET the EIGHTEENTH. To the Reverend Mr. Whitaker, Author of the History of Manchester, On his expressing his Approbation of the “Art of Eloquence.” Written November, 1785.
 19. 
SONNET the NINETEENTH. Presented to Major Drewe, with a Translation of the Military Poems of Tyrtæus.—January 26, 1786.
 20. 
SONNET the TWENTIETH. To the AUTHOR, on seeing his Plan for a History of Devonshire, 1790.
  
EPISTLE TO A COLLEGE-FRIEND,
  
THE LOCK TRANSFORMED.

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212

SONNET the TENTH.

[View'd thro' this beauteous Vista, where the Bloom]

View'd thro' this beauteous Vista, where the Bloom
Of flowering Ash disparted to the Day,
Bade from the Cloud the Sun's emerging Ray
Some Moments past, my root-wove Seat illume,
And let the brighten'd Landscape thro' the Gloom,—
How many a pleasing Object pass'd away!
The dim Sail, while the Branches scarce gave Room
On the calm Wave its Glimmering to survey;
And, where fleet Shadows floated o'er the Lawn,
The scatter'd Sheep that cross'd my charmed Eye;
And near that Hill, its sidelong Mists withdrawn,
The Hawk that pounc'd to Earth—then hover'd high;
And yet more near, the little playful Fawn
Amid those silver Alders, frisking by!
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