SONNET VII.

YE Overflowings of a restless heart,

1796.

Why thus torment me? wishes undefin'd,
Why through my breast so vehemently dart,
Waking convulsed commotions of the mind?··
Oh! stubborn feelings, why do ye refuse
The high-wrought intercourse of souls to
bless?

Why pampering lonesome anguish idly muse,
Or mutter workings of obscure distress?
Almighty Parent! what a thing am I!
Shuddering with ecstacy, yet dumb the while!
Thou, only Thou, with chaos-piercing eye,
Canst see me as I am! My Father, rise
Sublime in love, and with thy calming smile
Hush Thou my spirit's stormy phantasies!

SONNET VIII.

If the low breathings of the poor in heart,
If the still gratitude of wretchedness

1796.

Relieved when least expecting, have access To Thee, the Almighty Parent, Thou wilt dart Thy loving kindness on the offering meek

My spirit brings, oppressed with thankfulness, At this lone hour: for Thou dost ever bless The stricken soul, that sighs and cannot speak. Omniscient Father! I have been perplexed,

With scoffers linked! yea, called them my friends,

Who snare the soul! But now, by doubt unvexed,

My heart uplifts itself; its aim extends

To Heaven, where Thou thy brighter dwelling

hast,

Oh Omnipresent Thou, first, midst, and last!

SONNET IX.

WRITTEN IN THE SUMMER OF 1799.

On seeing the Moon rise, amony Clouds swiftly driven by the Wind, from behind a Hill across Ulswater.

BLACK is the lake, and blacker still the sky,

And lake and sky with hollow murmur moan; Scarce shakes a little star its locks on high;

And Fear's fantastic images alone

Crowd on the expectant spirit!. O'er the hill, That lifts above the waves its shaggy brow, Rises a solemn radiance: lovelier still,

And lovelier, varying like enchantment, now It stands with burning glory, bright and deep,

Like that which compasseth the eternal throne 'Mid black pavillion'd clouds. So to the sleep

Of Patriarch old; when, pillowed on a stone, Was seen in vision, 'mid thick darkness given, God's fiery-winged troop, and God in Heaven!

SONNET X.

TO A SISTER.

4th June, 1900.

OH! shall we visit those high scenes again?
Say, shall our spirits mount as we descry
Those wavy mountains o'er the western main,
'Mid the deep colours of the evening sky?
Say, shall we turn to them a grateful eye,
And think of all our toil and ruth and pain,
Since we with petulant inconstancy,

Have sought for peace, where peace is sought in vain?

How could we quit thee, Nature? quit thy forms Sublime and simple, pure and holy ever? How cease to wonder at thy solemn storms,

How from thy softer charms our spirit sever And hope (thee once enjoyed), where art deforms,

To find some solace for the base endeavor?

SAY, dearest Sister, shall we once more hail The exalted thoughts, the emotions pure and high,

That wake the soul to living ecstacy,

While wandering Nature down thy wizard vale, Where comes no threat of pride, nor sorrow's tale,

Where reels not pamper'd wealth obscenely by,
That mar the bosom's deep serenity,

And bid the springs of simple joyaunce fail?
Yes, Nature from her chosen dwelling place,
Shall still with holiest privilege endow;
And, struck with love, to her benignant grace
Thy soul shall dedicate each future vow!
While many a wilder breeze than thought can
trace,

Shedding new life, shall wanton round thy
brow.