SONNET HIL

Written at the Hotwells, near Bristol.

MEEK Friend! I have been traversing the steep Where when a frolic boy with patient eye

Thou heededst all my wand'rings, (I could weep To think perchance thy Shade might hover

nigh,

Marking thy alter'd Child); how little then

Dream I, that Thou, a tenant of the grave, No more shouldst smile on me, when I might

crave

Some little solace 'mid the hum of men!

Those times had joys which I no more shall know, And e'en their saddest moments now seem

sweet,

Such comforts mingle with remember'd woe!

Now with this hope I prompt my onward feet, That He, who took Thee, pitying my lone heart, Will reunite us where Friends never part!

ERST when I wander'd far from those I lov'd, If weariness o'ertook me, if my heart

Heav'd big with sympathy, and ach'd t'impart
Its secret treasures, much have I been mov'd
Thinking of those most dear; and I have known
The task how welcome, feelingly to pour
Of youthful phantasies th' eccentric store
Thro' the warm line: nor didst thou seldom own
The tender gratulation, earliest Friend!

And now when heavily the lone hours roll
Stealeth an Image on my cheated soul

No other than Thyself! and I would send
Tidings of love-till the mind starts from sleep

As it had heard thy knell !-I pause, and weep!

WHEN that dear Saint my fancy has possess'd,
Cheating my griefs, and then to bitter tears
Leaves me, I seek to calm my aching fears,
Thinking how holily She still suppress'd
Each dim disquietude, looking to Him

:

The Friend of patient souls, who wait to hear The "still small voice" to forlorn Sorrow dear! Then do mine eyes with kindlier sadness swim:And I implore, that She whom I did weep As I had had no hope, as on Death's sleep No more arose, when She shall liveliest dart On each tranc'd sense, may teach my prayers

to rise

Impassion'd, and a purer sacrifice,

Lifted by Her, the Priestess of my Heart!

SONNET VI. ·

WHEN Thou that agonized Saint dost see Worn out, and trembling on the verge of death, Murmur meek praises with convulsed breath, And sanctify each rending agony,

Deeming it a dim Minister of Grace

Medicinal, and stealing her from all

That subtly might her ling'ring spirit thrall;
When Thou dost read in her unearthly face,
How She doth keep in thankful quietness
Her patient soul, dar'st Thou thy best Friend
deem

As One deceiv'd by a most idle dream?
Ah, surely no! if Thou at all possess
A humanized heart; e'en if thy mind
Hate not the only hopes of humankind!

SONNET VII.

OFT when I brood on what my heart has felt," And think on former friends, of whom alas! She the most dear, sleeps where th' autumnal

grass

To the wet night-wind flags, I inly melt;
And oft I seem (my spring-tide fled away;
While the heart's anguish darkens on my brow)
Likest the lone leaf on the wintry bough
That pines for the glad season's parted ray!
Such thoughts as these, when the dull hours

pass by

Shroud them in hues of saddest sickliness! Yet oft I wiselier muse, yea almost bless The shiverings of departed extasy; Thinking that He who thus my spirit tries

Draws it to Heaven a cleansed sacrifice!