SONNETS.
Reading edition
ADVERTISEMENT.
The following Sonnets, the joint production of two Friends, were sent to the Author, as considered applicable to his Tour; it is therefore hoped, they may not be unacceptable to the Reader.
SONNET I.
TO FRIENDSHIP. Addressed to the Companion of my Tour.
O balmy comfort thro’ this varied maze Of life! thou best physician to the breast, With deep affliction’s venom’d sting opprest, A thousand arts, a thousand winning ways Are thine, to smooth the rugged brow of care, And mitigate misfortune’s keenest hour: Yes, A—, partner of my Cambrian Tour, Friend of my heart, how gladly do I share Thy confidence; whate’er my part may be Hereafter on this shifting stage of life, This busy theatre of jarring strife, May health and happiness attend both thee And thine!—on ONE, thy Heav’nly Guardian trust, Nor doubt protection—all HIS ways are just.
SONNET II.
The Contrast of Yesterday, and To-day; supposed to be written on the Summit of Snowdon.
How gay was yesterday!—no storm was heard To mutter round thy steep! yon sun arose With golden splendour, and in still repose Nature majestic thro’ her works appear’d. To-day, how chang’d!—loud howls the hollow blast! The thin mists undulate! thy tow’ring height Is veil’d in tempest, and eternal night! So ’tis with man! contrasting prospects past With dreams of future happiness—to-day In gallant trim his little bark may glide, On the smooth current of the tranquil tide: To-morrow comes!—the gathering storms display A sad vicissitude—the whirlwind’s sweep, Grasps at his prey, and whelms it in the deep.
SONNET III.
On leaving Wales.
Why bursts the tear, as Cambria, now I leave Thy wild variety of hill and dale, Where fancy, fond intruder, lingers still? Why do these parting sighs my bosom heave? ’Tis, that alas! I ne’er may view again Those haunts, those solitary scenes I love; But thro’ this vale of tears forsaken rove, And taste the sad vicissitude of pain? ’Tis, that I sadly breathe a warm adieu, To long-lost scenes of mutual amity; ’Tis, that I turn, my absent friend, to thee, “Think on past pleasures, and solicit new!” For thee my fervent pray’rs to Heav’n ascend, And may we meet again as friend to friend.
SONNET IV.
To the Welsh Harp.
Lov’d instrument! again repeat those sounds, Those plaintive airs, that thro’ my senses steal, With melancholy sweet. Their pow’r I feel Soothing my sadness, healing sorrow’s wounds. Gently thou lull’st my sufferings to repose, Inclin’st my heart to ev’ry virtuous deed, Removing from my mind each dark’ning shade That clouds my days, increasing all my woes. Now swelling with the breeze, along thy vales, Romantic Cambria! the strain I hear, Then dying soft away, comes o’er my ear In whispers soft, still wafted by thy gales! Lov’d instrument! again repeat those sounds, Soothing my sadness, healing sorrow’s wounds.
SONNET V.
Supposed to be written by Moon-light, on the Sea-shore, at Tenbigh.
I love to mark the silver-curling spray, Just kiss the pebbled shore; the zephyr blows, And ocean slumbers in serene repose; While the moon’s beams in quiv’ring radiance play Upon its surface: yet ere long, that tide May heave its foaming billows to the shore, And the sea boil in one tempestuous roar. See here thy picture, man! reason, thy guide, Can lull each gust of passion into rest; Her aid divine, her energy once lost, In what a sea of angry tumults tost, Raves the mad whirlwind of thy troubled breast! Blind passion then can reason’s aid refute, And degradate the man to worse than brute.
SONNET VI.
On seeing Llangollen Vale.
O thou, too captious of each airy scheme, Fancy! thou dear delusive traitor, say, Are not thy charms the phantoms of a day, That mock possession, like a fleeting dream? Here could I spend, if such had been my lot, Quiet my life; nor should the shiv’ring poor Depart unfed, unaided, from my door. “Content is wealth,” the emblem of my cot. Here, by the brook, that gently babbles by, Should stand my garden; there the blushing rose And woodbine should their sweetest scent disclose. But ah! farewell these dreams;—my big full eye Swells with the bursting tear—I think, how few The road to real happiness pursue!
SONNET VII.
Prospect of Sun-rise from Snowdon.
How grand the scene from this stupendous height! How awfully sublime! the king of day Flames in the east; old ocean’s waves display One globe of fire! one boundless flood of light! With what unclouded lustre blaze the skies! While [209] Mona’s flats, ting’d with a golden hue, Burst with transcendent beauty on the view; And, Man, thy scarce seen mountains proudly rise. Nature, beneath, seems prostrate! and my sight Can hardly grasp the vast immensity! Can then the muse attempt to sing of thee, Nature’s great God! Father of life and light! Who bade the sun his annual circle roll, Who guides, directs, and animates the whole.
SONNET VIII.
To my Dog.
Yes, thou hast been companion of my Tour, And partner of my toils! hast rov’d with me, Thro’ Cambria’s rude and wild variety, And often sooth’d the solitary hour With thy caresses; yet false man can claim Superior reason, claim a mind endued With love, with faithfulness, and gratitude; Love, a mere sound, and gratitude, a name. Yes, faithful creature! and when thou art gone, With fond attention shall thy bones be laid, And a small tribute to thy mem’ry paid, In these few words, engraven on thy stone: “Here let in peace the faithful Sylvio lie, The truest picture of fidelity!”
FINIS.