A covert for protection

Of tender thoughts, that nestle there The brood of chaste affection.

"SCORN NOT THE SONNET"

[Publ. 1827]

SCORN not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned,

Mindless of its just honours; with this key

Shakspeare unlocked his heart; the melody

Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound;

A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound;
With it Camöens soothed an exile's grief;
The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf
Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned
His visionary brow: a glow-worm lamp,
It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-
land

To struggle through dark ways; and, when a damp

Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand 10 The Thing became a trumpet; whence he blew

Soul-animating strains - alas, too few!

And if, as Yarrow, through the woods And down the meadow ranging,

Did meet us with unaltered face,

30

Though we were changed and chang-
ing;

If, then, some natural shadows spread
Our inward prospect over,

The soul's deep valley was not slow
Its brightness to recover.

Eternal blessings on the Muse,

And her divine employment!

The blameless Muse, who trains her Sons
For hope and calm enjoyment;
Albeit sickness, lingering yet,

Has o'er their pillow brooded;
And Care waylays their steps - a Sprite
Not easily eluded.

For thee, O SCOTT! compelled to change
Green Eildon-hill and Cheviot
For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes;
And leave thy Tweed and Tiviot
For mild Sorento's breezy waves;
May classic Fancy, linking
With native Fancy her fresh aid,
Preserve thy heart from sinking!

40

Oh! while they minister to thee,

Each vying with the other,
May Health return to mellow Age

With Strength, her venturous brother; 60
And Tiber, and each brook and rill
Renowned in song and story,
With unimagined beauty shine,
Nor lose one ray of glory!

For Thou, upon a hundred streams,
By tales of love and sorrow,
Of faithful love, undaunted truth,
Hast shed the power of Yarrow;
And streams unknown, hills yet unseen,
Wherever they invite Thee,
At parent Nature's grateful call,

With gladness must requite Thee.

'A gracious welcome shall be thine,
Such looks of love and honour
As thy own Yarrow gave to me
When first I gazed upon her;
Beheld what I had feared to see,
Unwilling to surrender

Dreams treasured up from early days,
The holy and the tender.

And what, for this frail world, were all
That mortals do or suffer,
Did no responsive harp, no pen,
Memorial tribute offer?

Yea, what were mighty Nature's self?
Her features, could they win us,
Unhelped by the poetic voice

That hourly speaks within us?

Nor deem that localised Romance

Plays false with our affections;
Unsanctifies our tears - made sport
For fanciful dejections:

Ah, no! the visions of the past
Sustain the heart in feeling

Life as she is our changeful Life,
With friends and kindred dealing.

70

80

90

If this great world of joy and pain Revolve in one sure track;

If freedom, set, will rise again,

And virtue, flown, come back; Woe to the purblind crew who fill The heart with each day's care; Nor gain, from past or future, skill To bear, and to forbear!