University of Virginia Library

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.

SONNET II. On having dined at Trinity College, Oxford.

October's flood had all deform'd the lea,
And wintry blasts the forest wide had rent,
When to the Muses Bower I blithsome went:
Pass'd the dank noon away in social glee
With full Repast, and Wine, and Jollity;
But when the friendly Eve her robe had sprent
Wide o'er the Meads, thither their footsteps bent,
To soften and refine our converse free,
Two nymph-like Maids, Phyllis and Chloe fair,
They, the melodious strings attuning sweet,
To Voice, and Verse divine, and Tuscan Air,
Banish'd loose thoughts, and lighted Love's pure flame.
If Pleasures chaste like these the breast can tame,
How well they fit the Muse's calm retreat!

SONNET III.

[As when, to one who long hath watch'd, the Morn]

As when, to one who long hath watch'd, the Morn
Advancing, slow fore-warns th' approach of day,
(What time the young and flowery-kirtled May
Decks the green hedge and dewy grass unshorn
With cowslips pale, and many a whitening thorn;
And now the Sun comes forth with level ray,)
Gilding the high-wood top and mountain grey;
And as he climbs, the Meadows 'gins adorn:
The Rivers glisten to the dancing beam,
Th' awaken'd Birds begin their amorous strain,
And Hill and Vale with joy and fragrance teem;
Such is the sight of thee; thy wish'd return
To eyes, like mine, that long have wak'd to mourn,
That long have watch'd for light, and wept in vain.

SONNET IV. On the MORNING.

Rings the shrill peal of dawn, gay Chanticleer
Thrice warning that the Day-star climbs on high,
And pales his beam as Phebus' car draws nigh.
Now, ere the lawns or distant cribs appear,
Or, ere the Crows from wattled sheep-cote veer
Their early flight, or wakeful Herdsman's eye
Discerns the smoaky hamlet, let me ply
My daily task, to guide the labouring steer,
Plant the low shrub, remove th' unsightly mound,
Or nurse the flow'r, or tend the humming swarms:
Thus ever with the Morn may I be found,
Far from the hunter-band's discordant yell;
So in my breast Content and Health shall dwell,
And conscious Bliss, and Love of Nature's charms.

SONNET V. On the EVENING.

Slow sinks the glimmering beam from western sky,
The woods and hills obscur'd by Evening grey
Vanish from mortal sight, and fade away.
Now with the flocks and yearlings let me hie
To farm, or cottage lone, where, perch'd hard by
On mossy pale the Red-Breast tunes his lay,
Soft twittering, and bids farewell to day:
Then, whilst the watch-dog barks, and ploughmen lie
Lull'd by the rocking winds, let me unfold
Whate'er in rhapsody, or strain most holy,
The hoary Minstrel sang in times of old;
For well I ween, from them the Nine inspire
Wisdom shall flow, and Virtue's sacred fire,
And Peace, and Love, and heavenly Melancholy.

SONNET VI. On a Stormy SEA-PROSPECT.

How fearful 'tis to walk the sounding shore,
When low'rs the sky, and winds are piping loud!
And round the beech the tearful maidens croud,
Scar'd at the swelling surge and thunder's roar.
High o'er the cliffs the screaming Sea-mews soar,
Lost is th' adventurous bark in stormy cloud,
The shrill blast whistles through the fluttering shroud;
And, lo! the gallant crew, that erst before
Secure rode tilting o'er the placid wave,
Scarce know to stem the black and boisterous main,
And view, with eyes aghast, their watery grave.
So fares it with the breast of him, the S ain,
Who quits Content for mad Ambition's lore,
Short are his days, and distant far the shore.

SONNNET VII. On a Calm SEA-PROSPECT.

How pleasant 'tis to walk the silent shore,
When scarce the humming tide can reach mine ear!
Of scatter'd mist the Sun dispels the rear,
And birds of calm the distant wave explore;
And safe in craggy bay the bark doth moor,
Whose streamers proud and slacken'd sails appear
Deep in the glassy pool reflected clear:
And lo, the crew, all blythe, to part no more
From happy native fields, in artless rounds
Provoke the lively dance; the smiling main,
With shouts, and mirth, and merriment resounds:
So fares it with the breast of him, the Swain,
Who quits Ambition for Contentment's lore,
For joyful are his days, and near the shore.

SONNET VIII. On the Abbé REYNALL's History of the Establishments in the East and West Indies.

Friend to the wretch, great Patron of Mankind,
Born to enlighten and reform the age;
Whose energetic and immortal page,
From Nature's laws, hath every art combin'd
Of mildest policy; whose soul refin'd,
Melts at the Slave's big tear, with generous rage
Dares to assert his rights, his griefs assuage,
And mould to industry the savage mind.
Tutor'd by thee, the nations blest shall see
Unbounded Commerce, Wealth and Peace arise,
And Truth, and spotless Faith, and Liberty:
Nor shall thy latest moment want the meed
Of praise and joy serene, which virtuous deed
Procures from Heaven for the Good and Wise.

SONNET IX. On hearing the Torture was suppressed throughout the Austrian dominions, in consequence of Beccaria's Treatise on Crimes and Punishments.

Hail to the Sage divine of Milan's plains!
Whose labours reach'd the horrors of the Cell,
Brought Mercy down from Heav'n with Man to dwell,
And curb'd the biting laws, and check'd the reins
Of Justice too severe—and, lo! the chains,
At thy command, from off the convict fell,
The Wheel appear'd no more, nor Scaffold Bell
Bade him prepare for more than mortal pains.
Oh! may thy voice pervade the nations round,
And Monarchs of their Subjects woes remind;
So shall thy praise o'er earth and seas resound,
Nor shall thy own Italia boast a name
To be compar'd with thine in future fame,
So lov'd by all the Good, so dear to Human Kind.

SONNET X. To Mr. WARTON, on reading his History of English Poetry.

'Tis not for Muse like mine, in rude essay,
To paint the beauties of thy Classic Page;
Which ay deserve far other patronage
Than the small meed sincere she fain would pay
Of Verse, grave Eulogy, or Distich gay;
For that thou deign'st inform this sapient age,
What 'ere was whilom told by tuneful Sage,
Or harp'd in hall, or bow'r, on solemn day;
But more for that thy skill, the minstrel throng,
Forbids in cold Oblivion's arms to lie,
Dear long-lost masters of the British Song,
They shall requite thee better far than I;
And other climes, and other shades among,
Weave thee a Laureate Wreath that ne'er shall die.

SONNET XI. To Mr JACKSON of Exeter.

Tho' Winter's storms embrown the dusky vale,
And dark and wistful wains the low'ring year;
Tho' bleak the Moor, forlorn the Cots appear,
And thro' the hawthorn sighs the sullen gale;
Yet do thy Strains most rare, thy Lays ne'er fail,
'Midst the drear Scene my drooping heart to cheer;
Warm the chill blood, and draw the rapturous tear.
Whether thou lov'st in mournful mood to wail
Lycid, “bright Genius of the sounding shore,”
Or else with slow and solemn hymns to move
My thoughts to Piety and Virtue's lore;
But chiefest when, (if Delia grace the measure)
Thy Lyre, o'erwhelming all my soul in pleasure,
Rolls the soft song of joy and endless love,

SONNET XII. Written at a Farm.

Around my Porch and lowly Casement spread,
The Myrtle never-sear, and gadding Vine,
With fragrant Sweet-Briar love to intertwine;
And in my Garden's box-encircled bed,
The Pansie pied, and Musk-Rose white and red,
The Pink and Tulip, and Honied Woodbine,
Fling odours round; the flaunting Eglantine
Decks my trim fence, 'neath which, by silence led,
The Wren hath wisely plac'd her mossy cell;
And, far from noise, in courtly land so rife,
Nestles her young to rest, and warbles well.
Here in this safe retreat and peaceful glen
I pass my sober moments, far from Men;
Nor wishing Death too soon, nor asking Life.

SONNET XIII. On a Frightful Dream.

This Morn ere yet had rung the matin peal,
The cursed Merlin, with his potent spell,
Aggriev'd me sore, and from his wizard cell,
(First fixing on mine eyes a magic seal)
Millions of ghosts and shadowy shapes let steal;
Who, swarming round my couch, with horrid yell,
Chatter'd and moe'd, as though from deepest Hell
They had escap'd.—I oft, with fervent zeal,
Essay'd, and prayer, to mar th' Enchanter's Pow'r.
In vain; for thicker still the crew came on,
And now had weigh'd me down, but that the Day
Appear'd, and Phebus, from his Eastern tow'r,
With new-trick'd beam, like Truth immortal, shone,
And chac'd the visionary forms away.

SONNET XIV. To the Evening.

What numerous votaries 'neath thy shadowy wing,
O mild and modest Evening, find delight!
First to the Grove, his lingering Fair to bring,
The warm and youthful Lover, hating light,
Sighs oft for thee.—And next the boisterous string
Of school-imps freed from Dame's all-dreaded sight,
Round Village-Cross, in many a wanton ring,
Wishes thy stay.—Then too with vasty might,
From Steeple's side to urge the bounding ball,
The lusty hinds await thy fragrant call.
I, friend to all by turns, am join'd with all.
Lover, and Elfin gay, and harmless hind;
Nor heed the proud, to real wisdom blind,
So as my heart be pure, and free my mind.

SONNET XV. On Christmas.

With footstep slow, in fury pall yclad,
His brows enwreath'd with holly never-sear,
Old Christmas comes, to close the wained year;
And ay the Shepherd's heart to make right glad;
Who, when his teeming flocks are homeward had,
To blazing hearth repairs, and nut-brown beer,
And views, well-pleas'd, the ruddy prattlers dear
Hug the grey mungrel; meanwhile maid and lad
Squabble for roasted crabs.—Thee, Sire, we hail,
Whether thine aged limbs thou dost enshroud,
In vest of snowy white, and hoary veil,
Or wrap'st thy visage in a sable cloud;
Thee we proclaim with mirth and cheer, nor fail
To greet thee well with many a carol loud.

SONNET XVI. On a Wet Summer.

All ye who far from town, in rural hall,
Like me, were wont to dwell near pleasant field,
Enjoying all the sunny day did yield,
With me the change lament, in irksome thrall,
By rains incessant held; for now no call
From early Swain invites my hand to wield
The scythe; in parlour dim I sit conceal'd,
And mark the lessening sand from hour-glass fall,
Or 'neath my window view the wistful train
Of dripping poultry, whom the vine's broad leaves
Shelter no more.—Mute is the mournful plain,
Silent the swallow sits beneath the thatch,
And vacant hind hangs pensive o'er his hatch,
Counting the frequent drop from reeded eaves.