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128

SONNET VII. FEBRUARY 23, 1795. ANNIVERSARY.

A plaintive Sonnet flow'd from Milton's pen,
When Time had stol'n his three and twentieth year:
Say, shall not I then shed one tuneful tear,
Robb'd by the thief of threescore years and ten?
No! for the foes of all life-lengthen'd men,
Trouble and toil, approach not yet too near;
Reason, meanwhile, and health, and memory dear
Hold unimpair'd their weak, yet wonted reign:
Still round my shelter'd lawn I pleas'd can stray;
Still trace my sylvan blessings to their spring:
Being of Beings! Yes, that silent lay,
Which musing Gratitude delights to sing,
Still to thy sapphire throne shall Faith convey,
And Hope, the Cherub of unwearied wing.
 

First published 1797.

Alluding to the 7th Sonnet of Milton, beginning,
“How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, &c.”

See Psalm xc. ver. 10.

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