thy soul-cheering rays;
I cou'd not learn my struggling heart to tear
From thy lov'd form, that thro' my memory strays;
Nor in the pale horizon of Despair
Endure the wintry and the darken'd days.

_April 1773._

SONNET XI.

How sweet to rove, from summer sun-beams veil'd,
In gloomy dingles; or to trace the tide
Of wandering brooks, their pebbly beds that chide;
To feel the west-wind cool refreshment yield,
That comes soft creeping o'er the flowery field,
And shadow'd waters; in whose bushy side
The Mountain-Bees their fragrant treasure hide
Murmuring; and sings the lonely Thrush conceal'd!--
Then, Ceremony, in thy gilded halls,
Where forc'd and frivolous the themes arise,
With bow and smile unmeaning, O! how palls
At thee, and thine, my sense!--how oft it sighs
For leisure, wood-lanes, dells, and water-falls;
And feels th' untemper'd heat of sultry skies!

SONNET XII.

Chill'd by unkind Honora's alter'd eye,
"Why droops my heart with fruitless woes forlorn,"
Thankless for much of good?--what thousands, born
To ceaseless toil beneath this wintry sky,
Or to brave deathful Oceans surging high,
Or fell Disease's fever'd rage to mourn,
How blest to _them_ wou'd seem _my_ destiny!
How _dear_ the comforts my rash sorrows scorn!--
Affection is repaid by causeless hate!
A plighted love is chang'd to cold disdain!
Yet suffer not thy wrongs to shroud thy fate,
But turn, my Soul, to blessings which remain;
And let this truth the wise resolve create,
THE HEART ESTRANGED NO ANGUISH CAN REGAIN.

_July 1773._

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.

INGRATITUDE, how deadly