Poems.

Sonnets.

SONNET I.

To the EVENING GALE.

I love thee, wanton Wind ! I love thy wing To gently winnow my recumbent form, As on the moss‐grown steep my length I fling, And listen to the billows mutt'ring storm.

Then do I think me of those lovesome hours When Hope had first unfurl'd her golden sail, When 'midst the shade of world-secluded bow'rs, I felt thy nectar'd breath,­thou balmy Gale.

Yes ! it was sweet, 'twas “passing” sweet, to hear The wand'ring cadence of thy trembling tongue,

For ah ! a voice, to sad remembrance dear, Oft its low sweetness on thy pinion hung. Pour then, oh breeze ! thy soft and charmful trill, And I will think I catch its sweetness still.

1801.

SONNET II.

To the MORNING STAR.

Hail lovely loiterer that greet'st my eyes, Thou sweet precursor of the merry morn, At sight of whom she trips along the skies, Waking the orient children of the dawn. Oh ! let me catch thy lustre ere it fly ! Still pour upon the sleeping world thy glance, While rapt in fancy's sweet illusive trance This wayward bosom shall forget to sigh. Oft thou remindest me of Hope's fair light Whose gay beams danc'd around my youthful heart And when Joy's prouder splendours took their flight Linger'd behind unwilling to depart. But not like thee­to Night IT yielded place, Nor was succeeded by one smiling grace.

1801.

SONNET III.

When grey Eve steals along the Western sky, Musing I climb the headland's craggy steep ; Gaze on the bosom of the tranquil deep, And watch the white clouds that beneath me fly. Or when the pale‐moon's cold and pensive ray Breaks softly o'er the dusky brow of night ; I love to view her dancing chequer'd light, O'er the wide world of waters sweetly stray. Then comes the memory of other hours, When on a scene like this I've paused­the while, Friendship would cheer me with her beamy smile, And young-eyed Fancy cull her wildest flow'rs. Oh ! that as flies, the dew-drop from each blade, Life's mantling spring-tide from the soul should fade !

SONNET IV.

To the BANKS of the EX.

Oft does my heart recal each bloomy grace, That clothes thy woodland‐wilds enchanting scene ; And oft does musing thought delighted trace, Each lovely feature of thy vallies green. Ah ! myrtle shades ! where late I wont to stray, And meet soft interchange of friendship's glance ; Ah wavey hills ! whose tops of sombre grey, First woke the bounding throb of young Romance. How I have ponder'd o'er your mantling charms ! And worn ye in my heart for many a year ! How has my fancy woo'd ye to her arms, And brought your well‐remember'd beauties near ! And still­oh still be Mem'ry's proudest boast, The golden hours I lived on Devon's coast.

1803.