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SONNET XXXI.

What is young Passion but a gusty breeze
Ruffling the surface of a shallow flood ?
A vernal motion of the vital blood,
That sweetly gushes from a heart at ease,
As sugаred sap in spicy-budding trees?
And tho' a wish be born with every morrow,
And fondest dreams full oft are types of sorrow,
Eyes that can smile may weep just when they please.
But adult Passion, centred far within,
Hid from the moment's venom and its balm,
Works with the fell inherency of sin,
Nor feels the joy of morn, nor evening calm :
For morn nor eve can change that fiery gloom
That glares within the spirit's living tomb.

SONNET XXXII.

FROM PETRARCA.

Solo e pensoso i piu deserti campi.

Lonely and pensive o'er the lonely strand,
“ With wandering steps and slow,” I loiter on,
My eyes at watch, to warn me to be gone
If mark of human foot impress the sand :
Else would my piteous plight be rudely scann'd,
And curious folk would stare to see the wan
And deathlike images of joy foregone,
And how I inly waste like smouldering brand ;
Or I would fain believe the tangled wood
Which girds the small field on the mountain side
The one sole witness to my crazy

mood :
But ah! what sandy waste, or forest dim,
My haunt obscure from love can ever hide ?
Where'er I think, I converse hold with him.

SONNET XXXIII.

The vale of Tempe had in vain been fair,
Green Ida never deem'd the nurse of Jove;
Each fabled stream, beneath its covert grove,
Had idly murmured to the idle air ;
The shaggy wolf had kept his horrid lair
In Delphi's cell, and old Trophonius' cave,
And the wild wailing of the Ionian wave
Had never blended with the sweet despair
Of Sappho’s death-song: if the sight inspired,
Saw only what the visual organs shew,
If heaven-born phantasy no more required,
Than what within the sphere of sense may grow ;
The beauty to perceive of earthly things,
The mounting soul must heavenward prune her wings.

F

SONNET XXXIV.

TO A LOFTY BEAUTY,

FROM HER POOR KINSMAN.

Fair maid, had I not heard thy baby cries,
Nor seen thy girlish, sweet vicissitude,
Thy mazy motions, striving to elude,
Yet wooing still a parent's watchful eyes,
Thy humours, many as the opal's dies,
And lovely all ;—methinks thy scornful mood,
And bearing high of stately womanhood, -
Thy brow, where Beauty sits to tyrannize
O’er humble love, had made me sadly fear thee;
For never sure was seen a royal bride,
Whose gentleness gave grace to so much pride-
My very thoughts would tremble to be near thee;
But when I see thee at thy father's side,
Old times unqueen thee, and old loves endear thee.

THOUGHTS AND FANCIES.

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