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Poetical Sketches

With other poems. By Alaric A. Watts. Fourth Edition. Illustrated with engravings from designs by T. Stothard, R. A. and W. Nesfield
Watts, Alaric Alexander (1797-1864)

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[section]
  
[dedication]
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POETICAL SKETCHES.
  
THE PROFESSION.
  
THE BROKEN HEART.
  
A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE.
  
THE CLOSING SCENE.
  
TO OCTAVIA,
  
CHAMOUNI.
  
REMEMBER THE PAST!
  
YEARS OF ANGUISH AND GLOOM HAVE GONE BY.
  
STANZAS.
  
TO A POETICAL FRIEND.
  
STANZAS
  
MORNING.
  
EVENING.
  
WOMAN.
  
EUROPA.
  
LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE.
  
POSTHUMOUS FAME.
  
A FAREWELL.
  
STANZAS
  
FORGET THEE? NO, NEVER!
  
CYTHNA.
  
LINES, WRITTEN IN THE ANGEL OF THE WORLD.
  
AUTUMN.
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STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
 II. 
II. 'TIS EVE ON THE OCEAN.
 III. 
III. WHILE I UPON THY BOSOM LEAN.
 V. 
V. SACRED MELODY.
 VII. 
VII. WHEN SHALL WE MEET AGAIN?
 VIII. 
VIII. COME, LET US BANISH SORROW.
 IX. 
IX. AND DOST THOU LOVE THE LYRE.
 X. 
X. MY RACE IS ALMOST RUN.
 XII. 
XII. RETOUCH, SWEET FRIEND—RETOUCH THE LUTE.
 XIII. 
XIII. THE PAINS OF MEMORY.
 XIV. 
XIV. THE SOUL THAT WAS SHROUDED.
 XV. 
XV. WHAT NEED OF YEARS—LONG YEARS TO PROVE?
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SONNETS.
 III. 
III. TO ---.
 IV. 
IV. TO SENSIBILITY.
 V. 
V. FROM THE PORTUGUESE OF CAMOENS.
 VI. 
VI. WRITTEN IN A CHURCH-YARD.
 VIII. 
VIII. ON A DOMESTIC CALAMITY
 IX. 
IX. TO SUSPENSE.
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MIRZALA.
 I. 
I.
 II. 
II.
 III. 
III.
 IV. 
IV.
 V. 
V.
 VI. 
VI.
 VII. 
VII.
 VIII. 
VIII.
 IX. 
IX.
 X. 
X.

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176

IX. TO SUSPENSE.

Ill-boding Fiend! How oft thy fiery breath
Hath stirred the storm of passion in my soul,
Until the waves of thought spurned all control,
And swelled to a fierce Phlegethon!—Beneath
The wide expanse of yonder boundless sky,
What hath the power to rack the feeling heart
Like thy keen-torturing vengeance? Where the smart,
Can match the brain-bewildering agony
Thy presence doth create?—My lot, through life,
Demon of dark uncertainty! hath been
To have sweet feelings maddened into strife
By thy bliss-blighting influence;—and each scene
Of beauty, shadowed by thy wing accursed!—
When shall I 'scape thy fangs? My heart—be still—or burst!
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