GENEVIEVE. AID of my Love, sweet Genevieve! And sweet your Voice, as Seraph's song. SONNET. TO THE AUTUMNAL MOON. ILD Splendour of the various-vested Night! Mother of wildly-working visions! hail! I watch thy gliding, while with watery light Thy weak eye glimmers through a fleecy veil; B And when thou lovest thy pale orb to shroud ANTHEM FOR THE CHildren of CHRIST'S HOSPITAL. S 'ERAPHS! around th' Eternal's seat who throng With tuneful extasies of praise: O teach our feeble tongues like yours the song Of fervent gratitude to raise— Like you, inspired with holy flame To dwell on that Almighty name Who bade the child of woe no longer sigh, Th' all-gracious Parent hears the wretch's prayer; The meek tear strongly pleads on high; And bids compassion seek the realms of woe |