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While on the rock I mark the browsing goat,
I shall not want the world's delusive joys; But with my little scrip, my book, my lyre,
Shall think my lot complete, nor covet more;
And lay me down to rest where the wild wave
Supposed to have been addressed by a Female Lunatic to a Lady.
LADY, thou weepest for the Maniac's woe,
And thou art fair, and thou, like me, art young;
Oh may thy bosom never, never know
The pangs with which my wretched heart is wrung. I had a mother once-a brother too
(Beneath yon yew my father rests his head :)
I had a lover once,-and kind, and true,
But mother, brother, lover, all are fled!
* This Quatorzain had its rise from an elegant Sonnet, “occasioned by seeing a young Female Lunatic," written by Mrs Lofft, and published in the Monthly Mirror.
The green sod soon upon my breast will lie,
Supposed to be written by the unhappy Poet Dermody, in a Storm, while on board a Ship in his Majesty's Service.
Lo! o'er the welkin the tempestuous clouds
View the drear tempest, and the yawning deep,
THE WINTER TRAVELLER.
GOD help thee, Traveller, on thy journey far;
Of winds and elements on thy head will break,
A dismal night-and on my wakeful bed Thoughts, Traveller, of thee will fill my head, And him, who rides where wind and waves contend, And strives, rude cradled on the seas, to guide His lonely bark through the tempestuous tide.
BY CAPEL LOFFT, ESQ.
This Sonnet was addressed to the Author of this Volume, and was occasioned by several little Quatorzains, misnomered Sonnets, which he published in the Monthly Mirror. He begs leave to return his thanks to the much respected Writer, for the permission so politely granted to insert it here, and for the good opinion he has been pleased to express of his productions.
YE, whose aspirings court the muse of lays,
Of its full harmony:-they fear to wrong
Of that distinguish'd import, lays, though sweet,
Of that so varied and peculiar frame.
O think! to vindicate its genuine praise
Those it beseems, whose Lyre a favouring impulse sways.
Recantatory, in reply to the foregoing elegant Admonition:
LET the sublimer muse, who, wrapt in night,
Who wake the wood-nymphs from the forest shade With wildest song-Me, much behoves thy aid.. Of mingled melody, to grace my strain,
And give it power to please, as soft it flows Through the smooth murmurs of thy frequent close.
On hearing the Sounds of an Æolian Harp.
`So ravishingly soft upon the tide
Of the enfuriate gust, it did career,
It might have sooth'd its rugged charioteer, And sunk him to a zephyr ;-then it died,