Of winds and elements on thy head will break,

And in thy agonising ear the shriek, Of spirits howling on their stormy car, Will often ring appalling-I portend

A dismal night-and on my wakeful bed Thoughts, Traveller, of thee, will fill my head,

And him, who rides where wind and waves contend,
And strives, rude cradled on the seas, to guide
His lonely bark through the tempestuous tide.

HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

ODE WRITTEN IN THE YEAR MDCCXLVI.

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By Fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung:
There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay,
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there!

COLLINS

7

DESCRIPTION OF SPRING.

THE Soote season that bud and bloome forth bringes,
With grene hath cladde the hyll, and eke the vale;
The nightingall with fethers new she singes;

The turtle to her mate hath told her tale.
Somer is come, for every spray now springes;
The hart hath hung hys old head on the pale;
The buck in brake his winter coate he flynges;
The fishes flete with newe repayred scale;
The adder all her slough away she flynges;
The swift swallow pursueth the flyes smalle;
The busy bee her honey now she mynges;
Winter is worne that was the floures' bale.
And thus I see among these pleasant thynges
Each care decayes, and yet my sorrow sprynges.

EARL OF SURREY.

SONNET.

DEAR Chorister, who from those shadows sends
Ere that the blushing morn dare show her light,
Such sad lamenting strains, that night attends,
(Become all ear) stars stay to hear thy plight,
If one whose grief even reach of thought transcends,
Who ne'er (not in a dream) did taste delight,
May thee importune who like case pretends,
And seems to joy in woe, in woe's despite.
Tell me (so may thou fortune milder try,

And long, long sing) for what thou thus complains,
Since winter's gone, and sun in dappled sky
Enamour'd smiles on woods and flowery plains?
The bird, as if my questions did her move,

With trembling wings sigh'd forth, I love, I love. DRUMMOND.

SONNET

TO A BROOK NEAR THE VILLAGE OF CORSTON.

As thus I bend me o'er thy babbling stream
And watch thy current, memory's hand portrays
The faint-formed scenes of the departed days,

Like the far forest by the moon's pale beam
Dimly descried, yet lovely. I have worn,