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Poems (1806)

Polwhele, Richard (1760-1838)

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VOL. I
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Elegiac Pieces.
  
TO A GENTLEMAN, WHO SHED TEARS IN COMPANY ON THE INTELLIGENCE THAT A FRIEND HAD DIED AT SEA OF A FRENZY FEVER.
  
LAURA's RINGLET.
  
IN MEMORY OF THE LATE Mr. RACK, OF BATH.
  
IN MEMORY OF THE LATE Mr. SLEECH, ARCHDEACON OF CORNWALL.
  
IN MEMORY OF THE LATE Mrs. DOBSON, OF EXETER.
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VOL. II.
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LYRIC PIECES.
  
ODE TO SLEEP,
  
ODE ON THE ISLE OF MANN,
  
ODE WRITTEN AFTER A THUNDER-STORM.
  
ODE WRITTEN IN A PICTURE-GALLERY.
  
PART OF THE EPICEDIUM OF REGNER LODBROG, TRANSLATED.
  
ODE ON THE SUSCEPTIBILITY OF THE POETICAL MIND.
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HEROIC PIECES.
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CLAUDIAN's RAPE of PROSERPINE.
 1. 
BOOK THE FIRST.
 2. 
BOOK THE SECOND.
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ADDRESSES.
  
AN ADDRESS, INTRODUCTORY OF Mrs. SIDDONS,
  
AN ADDRESS, SPOKEN BY Mrs. SIDDONS,
  
A POETICAL ADDRESS TO A WIDOW LADY, OVER A DISH OF TEA IN HER HERMITAGE.
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SONNETS.
 I. 
SONNET I.
 II. 
SONNET II.
 III. 
SONNET III.
 IV. 
SONNET IV.
 V. 
SONNET V.
 VI. 
SONNET VI.
 VII. 
SONNET VII. TO A YOUNG LADY, ON HER WEARING A VEIL,
 VIII. 
SONNET VIII. TO A COLLEGE FRIEND; ON HIS EXPRESSING HIS APPREHENSIONS, THAT THE AUTHOR HAD FORGOTTEN HIM.
 X. 
SONNET X. TO THE SAME. [A COLLEGE FRIEND]
 XI. 
SONNET XI. TO THE SAME. [A COLLEGE FRIEND]
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SONGS.
 I. 
SONG I.
 II. 
SONG II.
 III. 
SONG III. THE BLUSH OF SIMPLICITY.
 IV. 
SONG IV. THE FAINTING KISS.
 V. 
SONG V.
 VI. 
SONG VI.
 VIII. 
SONG VIII. To Miss S*****.
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EPITAPHS.
  
ON THOMAS POLWHELE, Esq; LATE OF POLWHELE, BY THE REVEREND J. B. C. OF GLYNN.
  
ON TWO CHILDREN OF R. POLWHELE, BURIED IN THE SAME GRAVE,
  
LINES TO THE MEMORY OF BRIGADIER GENERAL HOPE, GOVERNOR OF QUEBEC,

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196

SONNET IV.

[How sweet—what time the quick-rekindling day]

How sweet—what time the quick-rekindling day
His orient colours on my dove-cote streams;
Whose gilding blushes in the vivid ray,
And o'er my window flings reflected beams;
How sweet to listen to thy cooing note,
While slumbers softly leave the unsealed eye,
And on my pillow lights the placid thought
To bid the hovering dream of morning fly!
Yes, gentle Dove! may still thy plaintive tone
Be the first rural sound to meet my ear!
And still this breast such simple pleasures own,
That, as a lesson, I may love to hear;
And picture, with no gall to give offence,
Wafted on every note, thy innocence?
P.
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