Original sonnets on various subjects; and odes paraphrased from Horace Part 5

_December 1st, 1782._

SONNET x.x.xIX.

WINTER EVENING.

When mourn the dark Winds o'er the lonely plain, And from pale noon sinks, ere the fifth cold hour, The transient light, Imagination's power, With Knowledge, and with Science in her train, Not unpropitious Hyems' icy reign Perceives; since in the deep and silent lour High themes the rapt concent'ring Thoughts explore, Freed from external Pleasure's glittering chain.

Then most the understanding's culture pays Luxuriant harvest, nor shall Folly bring Her aids obtrusive.--Then, with ardent gaze, The INGENIOUS to their rich resources spring, While sullen Winter's dull imprisoning days Hang on the vacant mind with _flagging_ wing.

_Dec. 7th, 1782._

SONNET XL.

DECEMBER MORNING[1].

I love to rise ere gleams the tardy light, Winter's pale dawn;--and as warm fires illume, And cheerful tapers shine around the room, Thro' misty windows bend my musing sight Where, round the dusky lawn, the mansions white, With shutters clos'd, peer faintly thro' the gloom, That slow recedes; while yon grey spires a.s.sume, Rising from their dark pile, an added height By indistinctness given.--Then to decree The grateful thoughts to G.o.d, ere they unfold To Friendship, or the Muse, or seek with glee Wisdom's rich page!--O, hours! more worth than gold, By whose blest use we lengthen Life, and free From drear decays of Age, outlive the Old!

_Dec. 19th, 1782._

1: This Sonnet was written in an Apartment of the West Front of the Bishop's Palace at Lichfield, inhabited by the Author from her thirteenth year. It looks upon the Cathedral-Area, a green Lawn encircled by Prebendal Houses, which are white from being rough-cast.

SONNET XLI.

INVITATION TO A FRIEND.

Since dark December shrouds the transient day, And stormy Winds are howling in their ire, Why com'st not THOU, who always can'st inspire The soul of cheerfulness, and best array A sullen hour in smiles?--O haste to pay The cordial visit sullen hours require!-- Around the circling walls a glowing fire Shines;--but it vainly shines in this delay To blend thy spirit's warm Promethean light.

Come then, at Science', and at Friendship's call, Their vow'd Disciple;--come, for they invite!

The social Powers without thee languish all.

Come, that I may not hear the winds of Night, Nor count the heavy eave-drops as they fall.

_Dec. 21st, 1782._

SONNET XLII.

Lo! the YEAR's FINAL DAY!--Nature performs Its obsequies with darkness, wind, and rain; But Man is jocund.--Hark! th' exultant strain From towers and steeples drowns the wintry storms!

No village spire but to the cots and farms, Right merrily, its scant and tuneless peal Rings round!--Ah! joy ungrateful!--mirth insane!

Wherefore the senseless triumph, ye, who feel This annual portion of brief Life the while Depart for ever?--Brought it no dear hours Of health and night-rest?--none that saw the smile On lips belov'd?--O! with as gentle powers Will the next pa.s.s?--Ye pause!--yet careless hear Strike these last Clocks, that knell th' EXPIRING YEAR!

_Dec. 31st, 1782._

SONNET XLIII.

TO MAY, IN THE YEAR 1783.

My memory, long accustom'd to receive In deep-engraven lines, each varying trait Past Times and Seasons wore, can find no date Thro' many years, O! MAY, when thou hadst leave, As now, of the great SUN, serene to weave Thy fragrant chaplets; in poetic state To call the jocund Hours on thee to wait, Bringing each day, at morn, at noon, at eve, His mild illuminations.--Nymph, no more Is thine to mourn beneath the scanty shade Of half-blown foliage, shivering to deplore Thy garlands immature, thy rites unpaid; Meads dropt with [1]gold again to thee belong, Soft gales, luxuriant bowers, and wood-land song.

1: Kingcups.

SONNET XLIV.

Rapt CONTEMPLATION, bring thy waking dreams To this umbrageous vale at noon-tide hour, While full of _thee_ seems every bending flower, Whose petals tremble o'er the shadow'd streams!

Give thou HONORA's image, when her beams, Youth, beauty, kindness, shone;--what time she wore That smile, of gentle, yet resistless power To sooth each painful Pa.s.sion's wild extremes.

Here shall no empty, vain Intruder chase, With idle converse, thy enchantment warm, That brings, in all its interest, all its grace, The dear, persuasive, visionary Form.

Can real Life a rival blessing boast When thou canst thus restore HONORA early lost?

SONNET XLV.

[1]From Possibility's dim chaos sprung, High o'er its gloom the Aerostatic Power Arose!--Exulting Nations hail'd the hour, Magnific boast of Science!--Loud they sung Her victory o'er the element, that hung, Pressing to earth the Beings, who now soar Aerial heights;--but Wisdom bids explore This vaunted skill;--if, tides of air among, We know to _steer_ our bark.--Here Science finds Her buoyant hopes burst, like the bubble vain, Type of this art;--guilty, if still she blinds The sense of Fear; persists thy flame to fan, Sky-vaulting Pride, that to the aweless winds Throws, for an idle Show, the LIFE OF MAN!

1: This Sonnet was written when the Balloon enthusiasm was at its height.

SONNET XLVI.

Dark as the silent stream beneath the night, Thy funeral glides to Life's eternal home, Child of its narrow house!--how late the bloom, The facile smile, the soft eye's crystal light, Each grace of Youth's gay morn, that charms our sight, Play'd o'er that Form!--now sunk in Death's cold gloom, Insensate! ghastly!--for the yawning tomb, Alas! fit Inmate.--Thus we mourn the blight Of Virgin-Beauty, and endowments rare In their glad hours of promise.--O! when Age Drops, like the o'er-blown, faded rose, tho' dear Its long known worth, no stormy sorrows rage; But swell when we behold, unsoil'd by time, Youth's broken Lily perished in its prime.