 | The Legend of St. Loy |  |
vii
SONNET
ON FIRST READING THE REMAINS OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE, 9th April, 1819.
And didst thou from obscurity arise,Resplendent through the gloom of Fate, and sweep
Thy lyre, — wont so melodiously to weep
In solitude — and hail those brighter skies,
Which harsher destiny to me denies?
Thy spirit cheers me up the tuneful steep,
And wakes me from Dejection's iron sleep,
With sweeter than Castalian harmonies!
Oh! why didst thou not visit me before,
And lead me to thy favourite alder tree,
Where still the wild gales through thy harp-strings pour
A dirge of more than mortal minstrelsy?
There, while young Genius it inspires to soar,
One lone unmeasured note might utter hope to me!
| The Legend of St. Loy | |