SONNET XLI. 29th Sept. 1807. LET those to whom Love ne'er his raptures dealt Despise his power;-dead to the thrilling sense, The dear infatuating influence, With which the stricken breast is doomed to melt. Let those not talk of love, who have not knelt In supplicating anguish so intense That Grief could not conceive a recompense In all the stores of life for what it felt. If thou hast suffer'd thus, thy God implore To teach thy thought devotion's ardent aim; For all thy days of happiness are o'er If thou confidest in an earthly flame. Heaven grant the infinite of thought may find Him who alone can fill the heights and depths of mind. SONNET XLII. Written 29th Sept. 1807. THOU speakest well! Imagination owes To check her onward path! Creation's reign, train Of playful sprites, or ghosts foreboding woes; groan? These, and a thousand shapes, and sounds that dwell With Fancy, are exclusively their own, Loved by the Priestess of the Magic Cell. SONNET XLIII. Inserted in a Novel, written by the Author, printed, but not published, called " Isabel." 1st Oct. 1807. IF, as the mystics say, grace from above From every pure and intellectual aim, What but despair and blasphemy await?— * He that loseth his life for my sake shall find it. SONNET XLIV. Two Sketches attempted, which will only be understood well by him who acknowledges their likeness to himself. 1st Oct. 1807. HARD is his lot, who wheresoe'er he turns, No fellow-feeling finds! whom social glee Never exhilarates; whose heart ne'er burns With infant loves ;-nor tears of sympathy, Nor playful smiles,-to other men as free As air or light of heaven-are his; who yearns With impotent, and pining jealousy, As other men appear to seem and be, While mockery's withering grin the novice spurns; And sleek prosperity's unthinking sneer Dashes the trembling effort ere matur'd : : Shrinks the chill'd baffled heart, as if the fear Of unforgiven guilt, and unabjur'd Pursued ;-for self-applause,* with healthful cheer, Ne'er comes where mental misery is endured. * Madame de Staël says somewhere, "Les grands maux portent leur trouble jusques dans la conscience." SONNET XLV. 1st Oct. 1807. SEE this worn wretch amid the giddy throng, And blasting misery of mind which shook The powers of life, so that he cannot brook The trophies that to social mirth belong. If thou hast never breath'd, though blest with ease And intellect, the unavailing prayer, The idle longing, to surrender these, And other rare pretensions, so thy share In nature's common stores, and powers to please, Were once allowed,-thou knowest not despair. |