n the boon
That might at FAME's immortal shrine be won;
Then shining soft on tender LOVE's delight.--
Now, with stern hand, FATE draws the sable veil
O'er the frail glass!--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 passage 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 lustre small,
The moon, her swiftly-passing clouds behind,
Glides o'er that shaded hill.--Now blasts remove
The shadowing clouds, and on the mountain's brow,
Full-orb'd, she shines.--Half sunk within its cove
Heaves the lone boat, with gulphing sound;--and lo!
Bright rolls the settling lake, and brimming 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 shells 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