But why with sable wand unblest I felt it prompt the tender dream, And hark, my love! the sea-breeze moans Dark-red'ning from the channel'd* isle The watchfire, like a sullen star, E'en there-beneath the light-house towerIn the tumultuous evil hour *The Holmes, in the Bristol Channel. Ere peace with Sara came, Time was, I should have thought it sweet And there in black soul-jaundic'd fit When mountain surges bellowing deep Then by the lightning's blaze to mark But Fancy now more gaily sings; On summer fields she grounds her breast: Nods, till returning morn. O mark those smiling tears, that swell Blest visitations from above: i When stormy midnight howling round To me your arms you'll stretch: The tears that tremble down your cheek, And from your heart the sighs that steal How oft, my love! with shapings sweet I seize you in the vacant air, TO A FRIEND, IN ANSWER TO A MELANCHOLY LETTER. AWAY, those cloudy looks, that lab'ring sigh, Yon setting sun flashes a mournful gleam Wild, as th' autumnal gust, the hand of Time Bears on its wing each hour a load of fate; His weary oxen to their nightly shed, Nor shall not Fortune with a vengeful smile There shiv'ring sad beneath the tempest's frown Round his tir'd limbs to wrap the purple vest; And mix'd with nails and beads, an equal jest! Barter for food, the jewels of his crown. SONNET. PALE roamer through the night! thou poor forlorn ! Remorse that man on his death-bed possess, |