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Nugae Canorae

Poems by Charles Lloyd ... Third Edition, with Additions
Lloyd, Charles (1775-1839)

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DEDICATORY SONNET
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POEMS.
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POEMS ON The Death OF PRISCILLA FARMER;
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SONNETS.
 I. 
SONNET I. TO CRAIG-MILLAR CASTLE.
 II. 
SONNET II. TO SCOTLAND.
 III. 
SONNET III. TO NOVEMBER.
 IV. 
SONNET IV.
 V. 
SONNET V.
 VI. 
SONNET VI.
 VII. 
SONNET VII.
 VIII. 
SONNET VIII.
 IX. 
SONNET IX. On seeing the Moon rise, among Clouds swiftly driven by the Wind, from behind a Hill across Ulswater.
 X. 
SONNET X. TO A SISTER.
 XI. 
SONNET XI. TO THE SAME.
 XII. 
SONNET XII. TO THE SAME.
 XIII. 
SONNET XIII. TO THE SAME.
 XIV. 
SONNET XIV. TO THE SAME.
 XV. 
SONNET XV. TO THE SAME.
 XVI. 
SONNET XVI. TO THE SAME.
 XVII. 
SONNET XVII. TO THE SAME.
 XVIII. 
SONNET XVIII. Inserted in a Novel written by the Author, printed, but not published; called “Isabel”.
 XIX. 
SONNET XIX.
 XX. 
SONNET XX.
 XXI. 
SONNET XXI.
 XXII. 
SONNET XXII. Written early in the Morning, soon after the Birth of my third Child; and inscribed to my Mother, who was present on the occasion.
 XXIII. 
SONNET XXIII.
 XXIV. 
SONNET XXIV.
 XXV. 
SONNET XXV. TO MY MOTHER.
 XXVI. 
SONNET XXVI. Storm at Night, in a mountainous Country, contrasted with Domestic and Fire-side comforts.
 XXVII. 
SONNET XXVII. Sketch of a Mountain Cottage.
 XXVIII. 
SONNET XXVIII.
 XXIX. 
SONNET XXIX. Description of a Spring Hail-storm in a mountainous Country.
 XXX. 
SONNET XXX. TO SOPHIA. Written previous to a Journey to a place very distant from that of our residence.
 XXXI. 
SONNET XXXI. TO SOPHIA.
 XXXII. 
SONNET XXXII. TO MISS W---.
 XXXIII. 
SONNET XXXIII. FROM PETRARCH.
 XXXIV. 
SONNET XXXIV.
 XXXV. 
SONNET XXXV. FROM PETRARCH.
 XXXVI. 
SONNET XXXVI. FROM PETRARCH.
 XXXVII. 
SONNET XXXVII. TO SOLITUDE.
 XXXVIII. 
SONNET XXXVIII. TO SOLITUDE.
 XXXIX. 
SONNET XXXIX. TO SOLITUDE.
 XL. 
SONNET XL. Inserted in a Novel, written by the author, printed, but not published, called “Isabel.”
 XLI. 
SONNET XLI.
 XLII. 
SONNET XLII.
 XLIII. 
SONNET XLIII. Inserted in a Novel, written by the Author, printed, but not published, called “Isabel.”
 XLIV. 
SONNET XLIV. Two Sketches attempted, which will only be understood well by him who acknowledges their likeness to himself.
 XLV. 
SONNET XLV.
 XLVI. 
SONNET XLVI.
 XLVII. 
SONNET XLVII.
 XLVIII. 
SONNET XLVIII.
 XLIX. 
SONNET XLIX. IN THE CHARACTER OF ST. PREUX.
 L. 
SONNET L.
 LI. 
SONNET LI. TO MISS------
 LII. 
SONNET LII. TO MISS------.
 LIII. 
SONNET LIII. To her who will understand this, and the two preceding ones.
 LIV. 
SONNET LIV. Written after a Walk by Rydal Water, Westmore-land, in time of War.
 LV. 
SONNET LV. Written after seeing Rydal Lake.
 LVI. 
SONNET LVI.
 LVII. 
SONNET LVII. Inserted in a Novel, written by the Author, called “Isabel.”
 LVIII. 
SONNET LVIII. Descriptive as well as commemorative of a place belonging to the eldest Brother of the Author's Father; a place in which were spent many of the happiest Hours of his Youth.
 LIX. 
SONNET LIX.
 LX. 
SONNET LX.
 LXI. 
SONNET LXI.
 LXII. 
SONNET LXII. On the Death of Mr. Robert Lloyd, who, together with a Brother married, both of them leaving a Widow, the former with four, and the latter with three Children, and a Sister unmarried, died each of them of Fevers, in the short space of three weeks.
 LXIII. 
SONNET LXIII. The same Subject continued; addressed to Mrs. Robert Lloyd.
 LXIV. 
SONNET LXIV. The same subject continued.
 LXV. 
SONNET LXV. The same Subject continued.
 LXVI. 
SONNET LXVI. On the Death of Mr. Thomas Lloyd, who died within three weeks of the time when the subject of the last four Sonnets breathed his last.
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177

SONNET III. TO NOVEMBER.

1796.
Dismal November! me it sooths to view,
At parting day, the scanty foliage fall
From the wet fruit tree; or the grey stone wall,
Whose cold films glisten with unwholesome dew.
To watch the yellow mists from the dank earth
Enfold the neighbouring copse; while, as they pass,
The silent rain-drops bend the long rank grass,
Which wraps some blossom's unmatured birth.
And through my cot's lone lattice glimmering grey
Thy damp, chill evenings have a charm for me,
Dismal November! for strange vacancy
Summoneth then my very heart away!
'Till from mist-hidden spire comes the slow knell,
And says, that in the still air Death doth dwell!
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