SONNET,

Laid in the drawer of the thatched shed by the brook at Plas Nwydd, the Villa of the Right Hon, Lady ELEANOR BUTLER, and Miss PONSONBY, in Llangollen Vale.

WRITTEN IN AUTUMN 1799.

STRANGER, when o'er yon slant, warm field no cloud

Steals, at its foot, the verge of a wild brook,

In tangled dell, where sun-beams never look, Press this screen'd seat, and mark the waters crowd Close to the cliff down their steep channel rude; Leaping o'er rugged stones, that aye provoke ́ Foam and hoarse murmur; while the pendant oak Frowns o'er the little, clamorous, lonely flood.Impetuous Deva's honours yield to thine,

Dear brook, for O! thy scanty billows lave Friendship and Fancy's consecrated shrine; And thou may'st tell the stream of mightier wave, Here oft they muse the noontide hours away, Who gild thy vale with intellectual ray.

SPEECH

OF THE NYMPH OF THAT BROOK,

WHICH,

AFTER HEAVY RAIN, BECOMES A DEEP, VIOLENT, AND

FORMIDABLE TORRENT.

Lo! down yon steep of vales proud Deva borne, Rolls the hoarse treasures of her flashing urn! Yet bears my stream, as o'er the rocks it raves, Not tribute, but defiance to her waves.

SONNET.*

GAY trips my nymph along the green retreat, With frolic airy steps; and where they go Fresh florets rise in twice their wonted glow; Yellower the sun-beams o'er the meadows fleet, Or fancies fond possess me. Her light feet, Glancing along, no other traces show ;

They bend not the young grass, that springs to

meet

The falling arch of April's showery bow;
Nor bruise the emmet on her busy way;

And if the downy blow-ball flies its stalk,
So would it fly beneath the gentlest play
Of western winds; when, with his tuneful talk,
Amid new leaves, each songster of the grove
Cheers on her mossy nest his listening love.

* This Sonnet is in the style of our elder poets, with whom the hyperbole was a favourite poetic figure.

1. 11. Downy blow-ball-Ben Jonson's name for the seedvessels of the Dandelion.

A MEDITATION.

IN

every season, every change of life,

To give that zest which she can only give,
Hope must preside incessant. Poverty,

With all her train of ills;-th' unerring grasp
Of grief and sickness; thy soul-wasting powers,
Pale-ey'd Captivity! without the aid,

Cordial and sweet, of that associate mild,

Who could support? Not e'en the happiest lot
Here, in these low abodes of sin and care,
Sustains her absence gladly.-Not the gifts
Shower'd in the year's luxuriance; nor yet those
Shook on all sides from Fortune's golden wheel,
Might satisfy the soul, did not young Hope
Stretch o'er the onward scene her potent wand,
And give them brighter colouring. Thus all
The vapid present yields, in its best mood,
Leaves the sick heart unsatisfied ;-but thou,
Enchantress, blest of mission, canst sustain,
Canst animate, and on the vermeil dawn,
The white effulgent noon, and golden eve,

Of bloomy Summer, shed ideal light,

Which more than crowns their beauty. Thou canst

lift

With rosy hand, the veils of time, and pledge
To youth the flowers of love;-to manhood point
The paths of wealth and glory;-to worn age
The downy couch, warm hearth, and social friend.
But far beyond all these, sustain'd by faith,
Thou canst extend the Heavʼn-illumin’d torch
Gilding the grave; and, past its darksome bourne,
Disclosing the fair realms of joy and love

Where Night and Winter never come;-nor pain,
Nor dread of change;-but one celestial Morn
Purples th' Immortal Year; and one bright Spring
Of gratitude and bliss exhaustless flows
Thro' the redeem'd, emancipated soul.