Original sonnets on various subjects; and odes paraphrased from Horace Part 10

Aghast she stands, the Statue of her fears!

SONNET Lx.x.xIII.

ON CATANIA AND SYRACUSE SWALLOWED UP BY EARTHQUAKE.

FROM THE ITALIAN OF FILACAJA.

Here, from laborious Art, proud TOWNS, ye rose!

Here, in an instant, sunk!--nor ought remains Of all ye were!--on the wide, lonely plains Not e'en a stone, that might these words disclose, "Here stood CATANIA;"--or whose surface shows That this was SYRACUSE:--but louring reigns A trackless DESOLATION.--Dim Domains!

Pale, mournful Strand! how oft, with anxious throes, Seek I sad relics, which no spot supplies!-- A SILENCE--a fix'd HORROR sears my soul, Arrests my foot!--Dread DOOM of human crimes, What art thou?--Ye o'erwhelmed Cities, rise!

That your terrific skeletons may scowl Portentous warning to succeeding Times!

SONNET Lx.x.xIV.

While one sere leaf, that parting Autumn gilds, Trembles upon the thin, and naked spray, November, dragging on his sunless day, Lours, cold and fallen, on the watry fields; And Nature to the waste dominion yields, Stript her last robes, with gold and purple gay.-- So droops my life, of your soft beams despoil'd, Youth, Health, and Hope, that long exulting smil'd; And the wild carols, and the bloomy hues Of merry Spring-time, spruce on every plain Her half-blown bushes, moist with sunny rain, More pensive thoughts in my sunk heart infuse Than Winter's grey, and desolate domain, Faded, like my lost Youth, that no bright Spring renews.

SONNET Lx.x.xV.

TO MARCH.

MARCH, tho' the Hours of promise with bright ray May gild thy noons, yet, on wild pinion borne, Loud Winds more often rudely wake thy morn, And harshly hymn thy early-closing day.

Still the chill'd Earth wears, with her tresses shorn, Her bleak, grey garb:--yet not for _this_ we mourn, Nor, as in Winter's more enduring sway, With festal viands, and a.s.sociates gay, Arm 'gainst the Skies;--nor _shun_ the piercing gale; But, with blue cheeks, and with disorder'd hair, Meet its rough breath;--and peep for primrose pale, Or lurking violet, under hedges bare; And, thro' long evenings, from our Lares[1] claim The thrift of stinted grate, and sullen flame.

1: Lares, Hearth-G.o.ds.

SONNET Lx.x.xVI.

TO THE LAKE OF KILLARNEY[1].

Pride of Ierne's Sea-encircled bound, Rival of all Britannia's Naiads boast, Magnificent Killarney!--from thy coast Tho' mountains rise with n.o.blest woods embrown'd; Tho' ten-voiced Echos send the cannon's sound In thunders bursting the vast rocks around, Till startled Wonder and Delight exhaust In countless repercussion--Isles embost Upon thy liquid gla.s.s; their bloomy veil Sorbus and arbutus;--yet not for thee So keenly wakes our local ecstacy, As o'er the narrow, barren, silent Dale, Where deeply sleeps, rude circling Rocks among, The Love-devoted Fount enamour'd PETRARCH sung.

1: This Sonnet was written on having read a description of the Killarney Scenery immediately after that of the Vale of Vaucluse, uncultivated and comparatively desert as the latter has been through more than the present Century.

SONNET Lx.x.xVII.

TO A YOUNG LADY, ADDRESSED BY A GENTLEMAN CELEBRATED FOR HIS POETIC TALENTS.

Round Cleon's brow the Delphic laurels twine, And lo! the laurel decks Amanda's breast!

Charm'd shall he mark its glossy branches shine On that contrasting snow; shall see express'd Love's better omens, in the green hues dress'd Of this selected foliage.--Nymph, 't is thine The warning story on its leaves to find, Proud Daphne's fate, imprison'd in its rind, And with its umbrage veil'd, great Phbus' power Scorning, and bent, with feet of wind, to foil His swift pursuit, till on Thessalian sh.o.r.e Shot into boughs, and rooted to the soil.-- Thus warn'd, fair Maid, Apollo's ire to shun, Soon may his Spray's and VOTARY's lot be one.

SONNET Lx.x.xVIII.

THE PROSPECT A FLOODED VALE.

The three following Sonnets are written in the character of Werter; the sentiments and images chiefly, but not _intirely_ taken from one of his letters.

Up this bleak Hill, in wintry Night's dread hour, With mind congenial to the scene, I come!

To see my Valley in the lunar gloom, To see it _whelm'd_.--Amid the cloudy lour Gleams the cold Moon;--and shows the ruthless power Of yon swoln Floods, that white with turbid foam Roll o'er the fields;--and, billowy as they roam, Against the bushes beat!--A Vale no more, A troubled Sea, toss'd by the furious Wind!-- Alas! the wild and angry Waves efface Pathway, and hedge, and bank, and stile!--I find But one wide waste of waters!--In controul Thus dire, to tides of Misery and Disgrace Love opes the flood-gates of my struggling Soul.

SONNET Lx.x.xIX.

SUBJECT CONTINUED.

Yon late but gleaming Moon, in h.o.a.ry light Shines out unveil'd, and on the cloud's dark fleece Rests;--but her strengthen'd beams appear to increase The wild disorder of this troubled Night.

Redoubling Echos seem yet more to excite The roaring Winds and Waters!--Ah! why cease Resolves, that promis'd everlasting peace, And drew my steps to this inc.u.mbent height?

I wish!--I shudder!--stretch my longing arms O'er the steep cliff!--My swelling spirits brave The leap, that quiets all these dire alarms, And floats me tossing on the stormy wave!

But Oh! what roots my feet?--what spells, what charms The daring purpose of my Soul enslave?

SONNET XC.

SUBJECT CONTINUED.

My hour is not yet come!--these burning eyes Have not yet look'd their _last_!--else, 'mid the roar Of this wild STORM, what gloomy joy to pour My freed, exhaling Soul!--sublime to rise, Rend the conflicting clouds, inflame the skies, And lash the torrents!--Bending to explore Our evening seat, my straining eye once more Roves the wide watry Waste;--but nought descries Save the pale Flood, o'erwhelming as it strays.

Yet Oh! lest my remorseless Fate decree That all I love, with life's extinguish'd rays Sink from my soul, to soothe this agony, To balm that life, whose loss may forfeit thee, COME DEAR REMEMBRANCE OF DEPARTED DAYS!