SONNET XII. TO THE SAME. 5th June, 1800. Aн, go my Sister!-do not vainly try In spotless youth, thy fancy-guided feet, Have trod the plains, and search'd the mossy dells, The foaming mountain-torrent's mighty fall; Have traced the haunts where Inspiration dwells; And vainly, Maiden, would thy soul recall Feelings which Nature banished when she view'd Thy youth so vowed to mystic solitude, And o'er thy form her sacred mantle threw : "Henceforth," she cried, "Oh Maid of noble heart, "Should thou my hallow'd turf-built shrine desert, "Nought can thy vanished happiness renew." SONNET XIII. TO THE SAME. 6th June, 1800. HEED not the tongue, nor heed the brutal look; Pure Maiden heed them not, though they assail Thy simple ear with many a baneful tale; Thine eye with insult thou disdainst to brook! Keep that indignant soul! and Folly, strook With shame, (if shame o'er Folly e'er prevail,) Shall hie him back with disappointment pale, And mutter fresh spells o'er his cursed book. Mutter'd in vain !-For, disenchanted thou, No spell can wither thee, no charm can bind; Nature hath heard thy youth's religious vow, And 'till thou art in her sanctuary shrin'd, She, watchful for her Child, shall chase away "Terrors by night, and enemies by day." SONNET XIV. TO THE SAME. 6th June, 1800. WILT thou with me the rifted mountain seek? Oh, Maiden, shall our full hearts inly speak Thanks to the God of nature? Near some pine, Which sobs, and waves, to gales from mountains bleak, Whose knotted roots transparent fountains lave, Say, shall we lift our eyes, and as we see Nature's unutterable majesty, The rock, the hill, the lake, the woods that wave,.. For all the wonders which his bounty gave, Praise Him who "habiteth eternity." SONNET XV. TO THE SAME. 6th June, 1800. Now fade the obtrusive colours of the day, And, save the bleatings of the distant flocks, rocks, The linnets, or the throstle's evening lay. Yon headland summit (where the sun-tipt sail Peeps 'mid the woodland's shadow) to the ear No sound is brought!-Dear maid, can aught prevail To shake thy soul when scenes like these appear, Or bid the tides of genial nature fail? SONNET XVI. TO THE SAME. 8th June, 1800. On the calm eve of summer's fervid day Say, shall we sail along the lake's clear tide? And, bounding in the little skiff, survey The countless forms that grace its gorgeous side; The faint decline of landscape scarce espied, That to the horizon southward dies away, The mass of ancient rock like castle gray, The solemn wood, or mountain bleak and wide; The little promontory's joyous green, The intersecting underwood, the cot, Or pastoral farm, whose herds at evening seen, Wind with slow varying course the sloping vale, Maiden, does Fancy, whispering, cheat or not? "Yes, on that glassy tide your bark shall sail.” |