Sixteen Sonnets [by J. C. Bampfylde] |
 |
| I. | SONNET I. To the RED-BREAST. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
 | Sixteen Sonnets |  |
1
SONNET I. To the RED-BREAST.
When that the fields put on their gay attire,Thou silent sitst near brake or river's brim,
Whilst the gay Thrush sings loud from covert dim;
But when pale Winter lights the social fire,
And meads with slime are sprent and ways with mire,
Thou charm'st us with thy soft and solemn hymn
From battlement, or barn, or hay-stack trim;
And now not seldom tun'st, as if for hire,
Thy thrilling pipe to me, waiting to catch
The pittance due to thy well-warbled song:
Sweet bird! sing on; for oft near lonely hatch,
Like thee, Myself have pleas'd the rustic throng,
And oft for entrance, 'neath the peaceful thatch,
Full many a tale have told and ditty long.
| Sixteen Sonnets | |