SONNET XLVII.

ON MR. SARGENT's DRAMATIC POEM, THE MINE[1].

With lyre Orphean, see a Bard explore The central caverns of the mornless Night, Where never Muse perform'd harmonious rite Till now!--and lo! upon the sparry floor, Advance, to welcome him, each Sister Power, Petra, stern Queen, Fossilia, cold and bright, And call their Gnomes, to marshal in his sight The gelid incrust, and the veined ore, And flashing gem.--Then, while his songs pourtray The mystic virtues gold and gems acquire, With every charm that mineral scenes display, Th' imperial Sisters praise the daring Lyre, And grateful hail its new and powerful lay, That seats them high amid the Muses' Choir.

1: Petra, and Fossilia, are Personifications of the first and last division of the Fossil Kingdom. The Author of this beautiful Poem supposes the Gnomes to be Spirits of the Mine, performing the behests of Petra and Fossilia, as the Sylphs, Gnomes, Salamanders, &c. appear as Handmaids of the Nymph of Botany in that exquisite sport of Imagination, THE BOTANIC GARDEN.

SONNET XLVIII.

Now young-ey'd Spring, on gentle breezes borne, 'Mid the deep woodlands, hills, and vales, and bowers, Unfolds her leaves, her blossoms, and her flowers, Pouring their soft luxuriance on the morn.

O! how unlike the wither'd, wan, forlorn, And limping Winter, that o'er russet moors, Grey ridgy fields, and ice-incrusted sh.o.r.es, Strays!--and commands his rising Winds to mourn.

Protracted Life, thou art ordain'd to wear A _form_ like his; and, shou'd thy gifts be mine, I tremble lest a kindred influence drear Steal on my mind;--but pious Hope benign, The Soul's bright day-spring, shall avert the fear, And gild Existence in her dim decline.

SONNET XLIX.

ON THE USE OF NEW AND OLD WORDS IN POETRY.

While with false pride, and narrow jealousy, Numbers reject each new expression, won, Perchance, from language richer than our own, O! with glad welcome may the POET see Extension's golden vantage! the decree Each way exclusive, scorn, and re-enthrone The obsolete, if strength, or grace of tone Or imagery await it, with a free, And liberal daring!--For the Critic Train, Whose eyes severe our verbal stores review, Let the firm Bard require that they explain Their _cause_ of censure; then in balance true Weigh it; but smile at the objections vain Of sickly Spirits, hating _for they do_[1]!

1: The particle _for_ is used in the same sense with _because_, by Shakespear, and Beaumont and Fletcher.

"But she, and I, were Creatures innocent, Lov'd _for_ we _did_." BEA. and FLE. TWO n.o.bLE KINSMEN.

"----Nor must you think I will your serious and great business scant _For_ she is with me." OTh.e.l.lO.

"They're jealous _for_ they're jealous." OTh.e.l.lO.

SONNET L.

In every breast Affection fires, there dwells A secret consciousness to what degree They are themselves belov'd.--We hourly see Th' involuntary proof, that either quells, Or ought to quell false hopes,--or sets us free From pain'd distrust;--but, O, the misery!

Weak Self-Delusion timidly repels The lights obtrusive--shrinks from all that tells Unwelcome truths, and vainly seeks repose For startled Fondness, in the opiate balm, Of kind profession, tho', perchance, it flows To hush Complaint--O! in Belief's clear calm, Or 'mid the lurid clouds of Doubt, we find LOVE rise the Sun, or Comet of the Mind.

SONNET LI.

TO SYLVIA ON HER APPROACHING NUPTIALS.

Hope comes to _Youth_, gliding thro' azure skies With amaranth crown:--her full robe, snowy white, Floats on the gale, and our exulting sight Marks it afar.--From _waning_ Life she flies, Wrapt in a mist, covering her starry eyes With her fair hand.--But now, in floods of light, She meets thee, SYLVIA, and with glances, bright As lucid streams, when Spring's clear mornings rise.

From Hymen's kindling torch, a yellow ray The shining texture of her spotless vest Gilds;--and the Month that gives the early day The scent odorous[1], and the carol blest, Pride of the rising Year, enamour'd MAY, Paints its redundant folds with florets gay.

1: _Odorous._ Milton, in the Par. Lost, gives the lengthened and harmonious accent to that word, rather than the short, and _common_ one, odorous:

----"the bright consummate flower Spirit odorous breathes."

SONNET LII.

Long has the pall of Midnight quench'd the scene, And wrapt the hush'd horizon.--All around, In scatter'd huts, Labor, in sleep profound, Lies stretch'd, and rosy Innocence serene Slumbers;--but creeps, with pale and starting mien, Benighted SUPERSt.i.tION.--Fancy-found, The late self-slaughter'd Man, in earth yet green And festering, burst from his inc.u.mbent mound, Roams!--and the Slave of Terror thinks he hears A mutter'd groan!--sees the sunk eye, that glares As shoots the Meteor.--But no more forlorn He strays;--the Spectre sinks into his tomb!

For _now_ the jocund Herald of the Morn Claps his bold wings, and sounds along the gloom[1].

1: "It faded at the crowing of the c.o.c.k." HAMLET.

SONNET LIII.

WRITTEN IN THE SPRING 1785 ON THE DEATH OF THE POET LAUREAT.

The knell of WHITEHEAD tolls!--his cares are past, The hapless tribute of his purchas'd lays, His servile, his Egyptian tasks of praise!-- If not sublime his strains, Fame justly plac'd Their power above their work.--Now, with wide gaze Of much indignant wonder, she surveys To the life-labouring oar a.s.siduous haste A glowing Bard, by every Muse embrac'd.-- O, WARTON! chosen Priest of Phbus' choir!

Shall thy rapt song be venal? hymn the THRONE, Whether its edicts just applause inspire, Or PATRIOT VIRTUE view them with a frown?

What needs for _this_ the golden-stringed Lyre, The snowy Tunic, and the Sun-bright Zone[1]!

1: Ensigns of Apollo's Priesthood.

SONNET LIV.

A PERSIAN KING TO HIS SON.

FROM A PROSE TRANSLATION IN SIR WILLIAM JONES' ESSAY ON THE POETRY OF THE EASTERN NATIONS.

Guard thou, my Son, the Helpless and the Poor, Nor in the chains of thine own indolence Slumber enervate, while the joys of sense Engross thee; and thou say'st, "I ask no more."-- _Wise_ Men the Shepherd's slumber will deplore When the rapacious Wolf has leapt the fence, And ranges thro' the fold.--My Son, dispense Those laws, that justice to the Wrong'd restore.-- The Common-Weal shou'd be the first pursuit Of the crown'd Warrior, for the royal brows The People first enwreath'd.--They are the Root, The King the Tree. Aloft he spreads his boughs Glorious; but learn, impetuous Youth, at length, Trees from the Root alone derive their strength.