SONNETS. T I. O one who has been long in city pent, 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven,―to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament. Who is more happy, when, with heart's content, Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair And gentle tale of love and languishment? Returning home at evening, with an ear Catching the notes of Philomel,- an eye Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career, He mourns that day so soon has glided by, E'en like the passage of an angel's tear That falls through the clear ether silently. II. THE HUMAN SEASONS. OUR Seasons fill the measure of the year; Is nearest unto Heaven: quiet coves Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook. III. WRITTEN BEFORE RE-READING KING LEAR. O GOLDEN-TONGUED Romance with serene lute! Fair plumed Syren! Queen! if far away! Leave melodizing on this wintry day, Shut up thine olden volume, and be mute. Adieu! for once again the fierce dispute, Betwixt Hell torment and impassion'd clay Begetters of our deep eternal theme, But when I am consumed with the Fire, Jan. 1818. IV. FROM RONSARD. FRAGMENT OF A SONNET. ATURE withheld Cassandra in the skies For more adornment, a full thousand years; She took their cream of Beauty, fairest dies, And shaped and tinted her above all peers: Meanwhile Love kept her dearly with his wings, And underneath their shadow fill'd her eyes With such a richness that the cloudy Kings Of high Olympus utter'd slavish sighs. When from the Heavens I saw her first descend, My heart took fire, and only burning pains— They were my pleasures-they my Life's sad end; Love pour'd her beauty into my warm veins. V. ANSWER TO A SONNET BY J. H. B "Dark eyes are dearer far Than those that mock the hyacinthine bell." LUE! 'Tis the life of heaven,—the domain Of Cynthia, the wide palace of the sun,The tent of Hesperus, and all his train,The bosomer of clouds, gold, grey, and dun. Blue! 'Tis the life of waters-ocean And all its vassal streams: pools numberless May rage, and foam, and fret, but never can Subside, if not to dark-blue nativeness. Blue! gentle cousin of the forest-green, Married to green in all the sweetest flowers— Forget-me-not, the blue-bell,-and, that queen Of secrecy, the violet: what strange powers Hast thou, as a mere shadow! But how great, When in an Eye thou art alive with fate! Feb. 1818. S VI. TO HOMER. TANDING aloof in giant ignorance, Of thee I hear and of the Cyclades, As one who sits ashore and longs perchance To visit dolphin-coral in deep seas. So thou wast blind!— but then the veil was rent; For Jove uncurtain'd Heaven to let thee live, And Neptune made for thee a spermy tent, And Pan made sing for thee his forest-hive; Aye, on the shores of darkness there is light, And precipices show untrodden green; There is a budding morrow in midnight; There is a triple sight in blindness keen; Such seeing hadst thou, as it once befel, To Dian, Queen of Earth, and Heaven, and Hell. 1818. O VII. THAT a week could be an age, and we Felt parting and warm meeting every week, Then one poor year a thousand years would be, The flush of welcome ever on the cheek: So could we live long life in little space, So time itself would be annihilate, So a day's journey in oblivious haze To serve our joys would lengthen and dilate. O to arrive each Monday morn from Ind! To land each Tuesday from the rich Levant! In little time a host of joys to bind, And keep our souls in one eternal pant! This morn, my friend, and yester-evening taught Me how to harbour such a happy thought. |