SONNET V. TO THE SABBATH. AH! quiet day, I oft recall the time, 1796. When I did chase my childish sluggishness, The " rear of darkness lingering still," to dress In due sort for thy coming; the first chime Of blithesome bells, that ushered in thy morn, Carolled to me of rest, and simplest mirth : 'Twas then all happiness on the wide earth To gaze !-I little dreamt that man was born For aught but wholesome toil, and holiest praise, Thanking that God who made him to rejoice! But, I am changed now! nor could I raise My sunken spirit at thy well known voice; But that thou seemest soothingly to say, “Look up poor mourner, to a better day.” SONNET VI. Written July, 1796. Now glares the proud sun on the thirsty street, Where the shrunk, swarthy mendicant implores Some scanty pittance from the o'erflowing stores Of those that flutter by. How little meet This with an humble gesture that adores ; That with a flinty threat or sneer, that pours A poison to the soul !-Poor wretch, how sweet To bind some balsam on thy heart's keen wound! To make thee smile, and raise thee to the rank That man should hold, wherever man is found! But, Oh, this may not be !-Thou canst but thank Him who would succour thee!-Be this my meed! And thy rich thanks shall soothe a heart in need! THE DEAD FRIEND. Burton, August, 1797. WHEN I am quiet, and my centred soul Would I be so o'ertaken: for my tears I ponder on my desultory way; heart not owns, Or when in active life I force myself When it met mine; thy grasp of tenderness; When I was sore perplex'd; thy awful tones, My difficult ear, and drew my wayward heart My former self, and be again that child Whom thou didst love so well, who knew so well The value of that love! O thou wast all To me!-the vacancy which thou hast left To thee and Heaven devoted! I would there And when mankind Deem hardly of my doings, I will turn To thee, best friend! And if the time should come With singleness of soul, the work that Heaven Felt ere they call'd thee good! Farewell, and raise |