Original sonnets on various subjects; and odes paraphrased from Horace - LightNovelsOnl.com
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SONNET XIII.
Thou child of NIGHT, and SILENCE, balmy SLEEP, Shed thy soft poppies on my aching brow!
And charm to rest the thoughts of whence, or how Vanish'd that priz'd AFFECTION, wont to keep Each grief of mine from rankling into woe.
Then stern Misfortune from her bended bow Loos'd the dire strings;--and Care, and anxious Dread From my cheer'd heart, on sullen pinion, fled.
But _now_, the spell dissolv'd, th' Enchantress gone, Ceaseless those cruel Fiends infest my day, And sunny hours but light them to their prey.
Then welcome Midnight shades, when thy wish'd boon May in oblivious dews my eye-lids steep, THOU CHILD OF NIGHT, AND SILENCE, BALMY SLEEP!
_July 1773._
SONNET XIV.
INGRAt.i.tUDE, how deadly is thy smart Proceeding from the Form we fondly love!
How light, compared, all _other_ sorrows prove!
THOU shed'st a _Night_ of Woe, from whence depart The gentle beams of Patience, that the heart 'Mid _lesser_ ills, illume.--_Thy_ Victims rove Unquiet as the Ghost that haunts the Grove Where MURDER spilt the life-blood.--O! thy dart Kills _more_ than Life,--e'en all that makes Life dear; Till we "the sensible of pain" wou'd change For Phrenzy, that defies the bitter tear; Or wish, in kindred callousness, to range Where moon-ey'd IDIOCY, with fallen lip, Drags the loose knee, and intermitting step.
_July 1773._
SONNET XV.
WRITTEN ON RISING GROUND NEAR LICHFIELD.
The evening s.h.i.+nes in May's luxuriant pride, And all the sunny hills at distance glow, And all the brooks, that thro' the valley flow, Seem liquid gold.--O! had my fate denied Leisure, and power to taste the sweets that glide Thro' waken'd minds, as the soft seasons go On their still varying progress, for the woe My heart has felt, what balm had been supplied?
But where great NATURE smiles, as _here_ she smiles, 'Mid verdant vales, and gently swelling hills, And gla.s.sy lakes, and mazy, murmuring rills, And narrow wood-wild lanes, her spell beguiles Th' impatient sighs of Grief, and reconciles Poetic Minds to Life, with all her ills.
_May 1774._
SONNET XVI.
TRANSLATED FROM BOILEAU.
Apollo, at his crowded altars, tir'd Of Votaries, who for trite ideas thrown Into loose verse, a.s.sume, in lofty tone, The Poet's name, untaught, and uninspir'd, Indignant struck the LYRE.--Straight it acquir'd New powers, and complicate. Then first was known The rigorous Sonnet, to be fram'd alone By duteous Bards, or by just Taste admir'd.-- Go, energetic SONNET, go, he cried, And be the test of skill!--For rhymes that flow Regardless of thy rules, their destin'd guide, Yet take thy name, ah! let the boasters know That with strict sway my jealous laws preside, While I no wreaths on _rebel_ verse bestow.
SONNET XVII.
Ah! why have I indulg'd my dazzled sight With scenes in Hope's delusive mirror shown?
Scenes, that too seldom human Life has known In kind accomplishment;--but O! how bright The rays, that gilded them with varied light Alternate! oft swift flas.h.i.+ng on the boon That might at FAME's immortal shrine be won; Then s.h.i.+ning soft on tender LOVE's delight.-- Now, with stern hand, FATE draws the sable veil O'er the frail gla.s.s!--HOPE, as she turns away, The darken'd crystal drops.----Heavy and pale, Rain-pouring clouds quench all the darts of day; Low mourns the wind along the gloomy dale, And tolls the Death-bell in the pausing gale.
SONNET XVIII.
AN EVENING IN NOVEMBER, WHICH HAD BEEN STORMY, GRADUALLY CLEARING UP, IN A MOUNTAINOUS COUNTRY.
Ceas'd is the rain; but heavy drops yet fall From the drench'd roof;--yet murmurs the sunk wind Round the dim hills; can yet a pa.s.sage find Whistling thro' yon cleft rock, and ruin'd wall.
The swoln and angry torrents heard, appal, Tho' distant.--A few stars, emerging kind, Shed their green, trembling beams.--With l.u.s.tre small, The moon, her swiftly-pa.s.sing clouds behind, Glides o'er that shaded hill.--Now blasts remove The shadowing clouds, and on the mountain's brow, Full-orb'd, she s.h.i.+nes.--Half sunk within its cove Heaves the lone boat, with gulphing sound;--and lo!
Bright rolls the settling lake, and br.i.m.m.i.n.g rove The vale's blue rills, and glitter as they flow.
SONNET XIX.
TO ----.
Farewell, false Friend!--our scenes of kindness close!
To cordial looks, to sunny smiles farewell!
To sweet consolings, that can grief expel, And every joy soft sympathy bestows!
For alter'd looks, where truth no longer glows, Thou hast prepar'd my heart;--and it was well To bid thy pen th' unlook'd for story tell, Falsehood avow'd, that shame, nor sorrow knows.-- O! when we meet,--(to meet we're destin'd, try To avoid it as thou may'st) on either brow, Nor in the stealing consciousness of eye, Be seen the slightest trace of what, or how We once were to each other;--nor one sigh Flatter with weak regret a broken vow!
SONNET XX.
ON READING A DESCRIPTION OF POPE's GARDENS AT TWICKENHAM.
Ah! might I range each hallow'd bower and glade Musaeus cultur'd, many a raptur'd sigh Wou'd that dear, local consciousness supply Beneath his willow, in the grotto's shade, Whose roof his hand with ores and sh.e.l.ls inlaid.
How sweet to watch, with reverential eye, Thro' the sparr'd arch, the streams he oft survey'd, Thine, blue Thamesis, gently wandering by!
This is the POET's triumph, and it towers O'er Life's pale ills, his consciousness of powers That lift his memory from Oblivion's gloom, Secure a train of these heart-thrilling hours By his idea deck'd in rapture's bloom, For Spirits rightly touch'd, thro' ages yet to come.
SONNET XXI.
