Who at the howling of the midnight wind Will wake and tremble in her boding prayer? So may her voice be heard, and heaven be kindGo gallant ship, and be thy fortune fair! SOUTHEY. SONNET. LIKE as a ship, that through the ocean wide, Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me, From avarice and ambition free, And pleasure's fatal wiles? For whom, alas! dost thou prepare The sweets that I was wont to share, The great, the gay, shall they partake That murmurs through the dewy mead, To be a guest with them? For thee I panted, thee I prized, For thee I gladly sacrificed Whate'er I loved before; And shall I see thee start away, And helpless, hopeless, hear thee say Farewell! we meet no more ! COWPER. THE SPRING. A SONNET.-FROM THE SPANISH. THOSE whiter Lilies which the early morn Seems to have newly woven of sleaved silk, To which, on banks of wealthy Tagus born, Gold was their cradle, liquid pearl their milk. These blushing Roses, with whose virgin leaves The wanton wind to sport himself presumes, Whilst from their rifled wardrobe he receives For his wings purple, for his breath perfumés. Both those and these my Cælia's pretty foot Trod up-but if she should her face display, And fragrant breast-they 'd dry again to the root, As with the blasting of the mid-day's ray ; And this soft wind, which both perfumes and cools, Pass like the unregarded breath of fools. FANSHAWE. SWEET is the rose, but growes upon a brere; Sweet is the fir bloome, but his braunches rough; Sweet is the broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough; So every sweet with soure is tempred still, SPENSER. |