SONNET

TO LOCH LOMOND.

BY THE SAME.

3

LOMOND! thy rich and variegated scene,
Fantastic now-now dignified, severe;
Thy tufted underwood, of darker green,

Thine arrowy pines, that mock the rolling year; Thy soft diversity of sweeping bays,

Fring'd with each shrub, and edg'd with tenderest turf,

Where, as the attenuated north-gale plays,

The wild flowers mingle with the harmless surf;

Thy long, protracted lake, expansive now

(Boldly diversified with wood-crown'd isles) Imprison'd now by rocks, on whose stern brow,

Clad with cold heath, the Summer scarcely smilesI welcome fearfully! and hail in thee,

The wildest shapings of sublimity.

SONNET

TO A WOOD-PIGEON,

(WRITTEN IN A BOAT, ON LOCH LOMOND, ON SEEING ONE

DART INTO A COPSE, ON ONE OF THE ISLANDS OF THE

LAKE.)

BY THE SAME.

WH

HITHER, lone wanderer-whither art thou flown ?—
To what sequestered bower or gloomy dell?-
Say, dost thou go where sorrow is unknown,
Where trouble never enters, dost thou dwell }
Lend me thy wing then, tenant of these shades!
Lend me thy wing-thy gentle aid impart,
For I would fain explore these wizard glades,
And shun the feeblest trace of human art!
Oh! kindly guide me to a cave of night,
So wild, so very secret, so unknown,
That not impervious only to the sight,

The callous mind its power may also owm;
And, darkened Memory, ceasing to inform,
A wretch may shelter from misfortune's storm,

SONNET

TO THE SABBATH.

BY THE SAME.

An! quiet day, I oft recall the time,

When I did chase my childish sluggishness (The "rear of darkness lingering still") to dress In due sort for thy coming: the first chime Of blithsome bells, that ushered in the morn, Caroll'd to me of rest and simplest mirth: "Twas then all happiness on the wide earth To gaze! I little dreamt, that man was born For aught but wholesome toil and holiest praise, Thanking that God who made him to rejoice! But I am changed now! nor could I raise

My sunken spirit, at thy well-known voice; But that thou seemest soothingly to say, "Look up poor mourner, to a better day."

SONNET

BY THE SAME.

DID I not sometimes breathe an anxious sigh
Beyond this heartless wilderness of men
Heavenward; and did not Faith, with piercing kep,
Steal on the solitary hour, and dry

Each tear; and with such calming kindliness,
As might persuade poor Lunacy to sleep,
Each wayward aching in oblivion steep;

I long ere now had fainted! Me to bless

Love never comes-nor Hope, "that comes to all!"
Strange desolation, bursting from above,
Darkens each earthly scene! My God! I call

On thee, ere yet Grief's cankering worm consume
Life's "
sear and yellow leaf:" O may it bloom
With HER, the lost friend, in the realms of Love!

SONNET

TO A FRIEND.

BY MR. CHARLES LAMB.

FRIEND of my earliest years and childish days,
My joys, my sorrows, thou with me hast shared,
Companion dear, and we alike have fared
(Poor pilgrims we) through life's unequal ways.
It were unwisely done, should we refuse

To cheer our path as featly as we may,
Our lonely path to cheer, as travellers use,

With merry song, quaint tale, or roundelay; And we will sometimes talk past troubles o'er, Of mercies shewn, and all our sickness healed, And in his judgments God remembering love; And we will learn to praise God evermore, For those glad tidings of great joy revealed By that sooth Messenger sent from above.