SONNET I. to a friend. Ah, cease to grieve! what tho' thy lowly home Boast not the storied hall, or roof highwrought, What tho' no parian column richly fraught, Rear her bold head beneath the swelling dome, This be thy lot—hard by yon aged oak, Nigh the green valley and the murm'ring rill, Where the cliff beetles and where towers the hill, Where the wood darkens—shall thy cottage smoke; There, fir'd to rapture, shalt thou fold the fair, Shalt drink the breathings of her secret sigh, As flung on ether floats her golden hair, And wildly wanton rolls her azure eye: Ay, and thy hours of bliss shall friendship share, Nor shall the Muse thy modest mansion fly. SONNET II. TO THE MEMORY OF A FRIEND. What scenes of sorrow wake the soul to pain, What floods of anguish cloud the sick'ning eye! O Sons of Pity! pour the melting strain, mind, To whose warm breast were friendship's hallow'd flame, The Bard's wild fancy and his fire assign'd: Say, gentle Spirit! whither art thou fled, To what pale region of the silent dead? Yet why inquire? where some sweet season blows, Sure Grief shall smile, and Friendship breathe her vows, Despair grow mild, Distraction cease to rave, And Love once more shall clasp the form he gave. SONNET III. TO A LADY WITH MUSIC. Yes, I have heard thee wake the trembling note, Yes, I have heard thee pour the melting lay, Warm as at eve along the vales remote, The strains of fancy on the ear decay; But tho' thy voice, with magic power replete, Thy thrilling voice can call the gushing tear, Yet is the cadence of thy soul more sweet, Yet is the concord of thy life more dear: O Lady! if to sooth the throbbing pain, To still the tumult of this anxious mind, Some gentle Maid, in tender pity, deign My wounds of sorrow and of care to bind, Oh be she blest, and I will ne'er repine, As thou art blest, her form and temper thine. SONNET IV. TO A FRIEND RETIRING TO FRANCE IN 1790. Go, gentle youth, to Gallia's patriot* shore, Go, drink the spirit of her balmy sky, Ah! 'twill be long alas! ere thou once more Shalt sooth my sorrows with the mingling sigh; Yet go—and with thee bear this parting strain Whilst down my cheek warm flows the silent dew, Be all that friendship's melting soul can feign, "And all thy virtue dictates dare to do;" And now farewell!—in what wild distant clime, In what lone waste I draw the vital breath, Be thou belov'd! and when at length hoar time Shall plunge my spirit in the sleep of death, Say, where the long grass trembles o'er thy poet's head, Say, wilt thou drop the tear by sorrowing friendship led? This epithet has, unfortunately, since the year 1790, become totally inapplicable. The friends of legal liberty were, at that period, high in expectation of seeing France the seat of constitutional freedom: she has now, dreadful reverse given birth to a Government whose despotism and ambition know no bounds, and which seems destined to carry terror and desolation through the civilized world. May, 1798. NUMBER VII. Many an Urn There too had place, with votive lay inscrib'd To commemorate a deceased, or absent friend, to express the sensations and moral effect arising from the contemplation of beautiful scenery, to perpetuate the remembrance of some remarkable event, or inscribe the temple and the statue with appropriate address, appear to be the chief purposes of the Inscription. It is evident that no species of composition, when well written, can better answer the wishes of the friends to virtue and to goodness than this, and almost every polished nation, therefore, has made use of it to impress the feeling mind, and to excite it to emulation. Among the Greeks it was cultivated with success, and |