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Sungleams

Rondeaux and Sonnets. By the Rev. Richard Wilton
Wilton, Richard
  
[epigraph]
  
[dedication]

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RONDEAUX.
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SONNETS.
 I. 
I. FROSTED TREES.
 III. 
III. THE SWAN.
 IV. 
IV. YEWBERRIES ON THE SNOW.
 VI. 
VI. A LADY'S CHAMBER.
 VIII. 
VIII. DUNMORE WOODS.
 IX. 
IX. HOPE IS THE WINDOW.
 X. 
X. THE SEASIDE IN WINTER.
 XI. 
XI. THE SOOTHING OF NATURE.
 XII. 
XII. A PRAYER IN TIME OF TROUBLE.
 XIII. 
XIII. “SOMETHING FOR EVERY DAY.”
 XIV. 
XIV. THE MAGNET AND THE MOON.
 XV. 
XV. GLIMPSES.
 XVI. 
XVI. PRE-INTIMATIONS.
 XVII. 
XVII. THE REFLECTION IN THE LAKE.
 XVIII. 
XVIII. A THOUGHT IN A GREENHOUSE.
 XIX. 
XIX. THE FIRSTBORN.
 XX. 
XX. “A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM.”
 XXI. 
XXI. ON A DOVE WHICH FLEW AGAINST MY STUDY WINDOW.
 XXII. 
XXII. A CONFIRMATION.
 XXV. 
XXV. ON AN OLD UPRAISED SEA-BEACH IN DUNMORE PARK.
 XXVI. 
XXVI. ON VISITING ARRAN AND LOCHGOIL-HEAD.
 XXVII. 
XXVII. ON THE MOUNTAINS ROUND LOCH SHIEL,
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII. TO A FRIEND ABOUT TO RESIDE IN JERUSALEM.
 XXIX. 
XXIX. ON MY BLUE HARE,
 XXX. 
XXX. ON MY BLUE HARE BEGINNING TO TURN WHITE.
 XXXI. 
XXXI. A LESSON OF TRUST.
 XXXII. 
XXXII. SWEET THOUGHTS AND SAD THOUGHTS,
 XXXIII. 
XXXIII. ON THE DEATH OF “BLUEY,” MY HIGHLAND HARE.
 XXXIV. 
XXXIV. ST. JOHN AND THE PARTRIDGE.
 XXXV. 
XXXV. THE BLACK ROCK;
 XXXVII. 
XXXVII. ON A GLEN WITHOUT A NAME
 XXXVIII. 
XXXVIII. ORANSAY;
 XXXIX. 
XXXIX. A FAREWELL TO GLENCRIPISDALE.
 XL. 
XL. ULLESWATER UNDER A CLOUD.
 XLI. 
XLI. ON SEEING SOME BIRDS IN WINTER
 XLII. 
XLII. AFTER READING TENNYSON'S “IDYLLS OF THE KING.”
 XLIII. 
XLIII. ON A FERN-LEAF
 XLIV. 
XLIV. ON AN AVENUE AT GRASBY VICARAGE,
 XLV. 
XLV. IN MEMORY OF CHARLES TENNYSON-TURNER,
 XLVI. 
XLVI. LAST LOOKS,
 XLVII. 
XLVII. ON THE SWORD OF A FRENCH NAVAL OFFICER,
 XLVIII. 
XLVIII. ON THE PROPOSED RESTORATION OF LONDESBOROUGH CHURCH
 XLIX. 
XLIX. THE MIRROR OF THE WORD
 L. 
L. THE CHURCH REOPENING WEEK.
  
VALEDICTORY.

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96

XXIX. ON MY BLUE HARE,

Ten weeks after it was caught on a mountain near Loch Sunart.

Cut off from all communion with its kind,
Who by far Sunart's waters roam at will,
And range the rocky summits of the hill,
As free and restless as the mountain-wind;—
Dreams it of breezy pleasures left behind,
As by my hearth it sits alone and still?
Do visions of its wild companions fill
The chambers of its ruminating mind?
What are its wondering, wildered thoughts of me,
As with enquiring eye it reads my face,
Or with a graceful bound leaps on my knee,
And feels the tenderness of my embrace?
How puzzled and perplexed its brain must be,
In man, its age-long foe, a friend to trace!
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