Sixteen Sonnets [by J. C. Bampfylde] |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. | SONNET XIII. On a Frightful Dream. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
 | Sixteen Sonnets |  |
13
SONNET XIII. On a Frightful Dream.
This Morn ere yet had rung the matin peal,The cursed Merlin, with his potent spell,
Aggriev'd me sore, and from his wizard cell,
(First fixing on mine eyes a magic seal)
Millions of ghosts and shadowy shapes let steal;
Who, swarming round my couch, with horrid yell,
Chatter'd and moe'd, as though from deepest Hell
They had escap'd.—I oft, with fervent zeal,
Essay'd, and prayer, to mar th' Enchanter's Pow'r.
In vain; for thicker still the crew came on,
And now had weigh'd me down, but that the Day
Appear'd, and Phebus, from his Eastern tow'r,
With new-trick'd beam, like Truth immortal, shone,
And chac'd the visionary forms away.
| Sixteen Sonnets | |