el wiles
I lost thy amity; saw thy dear smiles
Eclips'd; those smiles, that us'd my heart to cheer,
Wak'd by thy grateful sense of many a year
When rose thy youth, by Friendship's pleasing toils
Cultur'd;--but DYING!--O! for ever fade
The angry fires.--Each thought, that might upbraid
Thy broken faith, which yet my soul deplores,
Now as eternally is past and gone
As are the interesting, the happy hours,
Days, years, we shar'd together. They are flown!
Yet long must I lament thy hapless doom,
Thy lavish'd life and early-hasten'd tomb.

SONNET XXXIII.

Last night her Form the hours of slumber bless'd
Whose eyes illumin'd all my youthful years.--
Spirit of dreams, at thy command appears
Each airy Shape, that visiting our rest,
Dismays, perplexes, or delights the breast.
My pensive heart this kind indulgence cheers;
Bliss, in no _waking_ moment now possess'd,
Bliss, ask'd of thee with Memory's thrilling tears,
Nightly I cry, how oft, alas! in vain,
Give, by thy powers, that airy Shapes controul,
HONORA to my visions!--ah! ordain
Her beauteous lip may wear the smile that stole,
In years long fled, the sting from every pain!
Show her sweet face, ah show it to my soul!

_June 1780._

SONNET XXXIV.

When Death, or adverse Fortune's ruthless gale,
Tears our best hopes away, the wounded Heart
Exhausted, leans on all that can impart
The charm of Sympathy; her mutual wail
How soothing! never can her warm tears fail
To balm our bleeding grief's severest smart;
Nor wholly vain _feign'd_ Pity's solemn art,
Tho' we should penetrate her sable veil.
Concern, e'en known to be _assum'd_, our pains
Respecting, kinder welcome far acquires
Than cold Neglect, or Mirth that Grief profanes.
Thus each faint Glow-worm of the Night conspires,
Gleaming along the moss'd and darken'd lanes,
To cheer the Gloom with her unreal fires.

_June 1780._

SONNET XXXV.

SPRING.

In April's gilded morn when south winds blow,
And gently shake the hawthorn's silver crown,
Wafting its scent the forest-glade adown,
The dewy shelter of the bounding Doe,
_Then_, under trees, soft tufts of primrose show
Their palely-yellowing flowers;--to the moist Sun
Blue harebells peep, while cowslips stand unblown,
Plighted to riper May;--and lavish flow
The Lark