Volume 3 — SONNET LXXII. WRITTEN IN THE RAINY SUMMER OF 1789.

Ah, hapless June! circles yon lunar sphere Yet the dim Halo? whose cold powers ordain Long o’er these vales should sweep, in misty train, The pale continuous showers, that sullying smear Thy radiant lilies, towering on the plain; Bend low, with rivel’d leaves of canker’d stain, Thy drench’d and heavy rose—Yet pledg’d and dear Fair Hope still holds the promise of the year; Suspends her anchor on the silver horn Of the next wexing orb, tho’, June, thy day, Robb’d of its golden eve, and rosy morn, And gloomy as the Winter’s rigid sway, Leads sunless, lingering, disappointing hours Thro’ the song-silent glades and dropping bowers.