SONNET. To France. DETESTED land! such deep and deadly hate In dust forever all thy vaunting pride, Terror, Despair, Destruction, by my side! But that thy sons, detested land! are still 1808 R. A. B. T SONNET. PULTENEY, the fourth young Spring now clothes the earth, Since my rude muse with laureate wreaths essay'd Oft still his absence casts a saddening shade: By many an act of generous kindness won, 1 SONNET. To F. N. C. Mundy, Esq. Author of " Needwood Forest." BY SIR BROOKE BOOTH BY. MUNDY, whose song hath taught the forest swain To view fair NEEDWOOD thro' the radiance clear Of bright imagination, taught the tear To glisten in his eye for other's pain, And own that taste and virtue are not vain, How was thy pipe melodious wont to cheer The wintry groves, when every leaf was sere, And brighten summer with its artful strain! Say by what meed shall NEEDWOOD court thy stay? She unsuspecting twines in amorous care Her favourite holly and her flower bells-gay, To deck with modest hand her lover's hair,→ Ah, do not thou her gentle hopes betray, And doom her tender bosom to despair! 1 SONNET. On leaving Tours. My Gallic friends-ye friends belov'd in vain! Thou vale of Tours, where Faith and Friendship dwell, And every greenwood grove and every plain, Each with your partners deftly trip the ground; SONNET To the River Stour. DEAR native Stream! ah, dearer far to me Than Thames, tho' grandeur crown his margin gay; And not the Loire, all lovely tho' she be, And passing fair, cou'd woo my thoughts away, Forgetful of thy haunts, loved Stream: nor she,., The yellow Seine, whose peaceful waters play Through Gallia's fields, cou'd lure my heart from thee That faithful heart which knows not how to stray. Dear native Stream! lov'd Stour, to thee were paid My earliest vows, and thou my last shall have: And as my earliest steps were wont to tread, So shall my last, thy banks, paternal wave! And yo 1, ye trembling willows, wont to shade My youthful pastimes, ye shall shade my grave. W. J. |