Imagens das páginas
PDF
ePub

SONNET.

To France.

DETESTED land! such deep and deadly hate
As once to Rome the Punic hero swore
I vow to thee! O! were but mine the fate
Over thy pale and trembling plains to pour
The tempest of the battle, and to crush

In dust forever all thy vaunting pride,
Impetuous to the glorious task I'd rush,

Terror, Despair, Destruction, by my side!
Nor do I hate thee, France, for this alone,
That thou from age to age thyself hast shown
Foe to the realm that rules the subject waves;
But that thy sons, detested land! are still

A race accurst, prone to extremes of ill;
Blood-drinking tyrants, or dust-licking-slaves!

1808

R. A. D.

SONNET.

PULTENEY, the fourth young Spring now clothes the

earth,

Since my rude muse with laureate wreaths essay'd
To deck the sacred spot, where he is laid

Who form'd my genius, and who gave me birth;
Yet o'er my gayest hours of social mirth

Oft still his absence casts a saddening shade:
Oft still to him my secret tears are paid
While memory fondly dwells upon his worth.
Hence mindful, who most shar'd his grateful love
By many an act of generous kindness won,
This page I mark, O Pulteney! with thy name;
Happy, if so I draw thee to approve
The pious gratitude which warms the son,
Howe'er thy nicer taste the poet blame.

[ocr errors]

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!

[ocr errors]

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,
Ye lost lamented scenes, ah, fare ye well!
And fare ye well, ye village swains so gay,
Who to the pipe and tabor's merry sound,
Done and forgot the labours of the day,

Each with your partners deftly trip the ground;
Peace to your plains, and still with smile serene,
Fast by those fields for ever dwell Content:
For Friendship hail'd me on your banks of green,
And smiling Welcome wheresoe'er I went!
Oh! vale of Tours where Faith and Friendship dwell,
And you, ye
friends beloyed in vain, farewell.

W. J.

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 yò 1, ye trembling willows, wont to shade
My youthful pastimes, ye shall shade my grave.

W. J.

« AnteriorContinuar »