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's loud carols in the wilds of air. O! not to Nature's glad Enthusiast cling Avarice, and pride.--Thro' her now blooming sphere Charm'd as he roves, his thoughts enraptur'd spring To HIM, who gives frail Man's appointed time These cheering hours of promise, and of prime. _April 29th, 1782._ SONNET XXXVI. SUMMER. Now on hills, rocks, and streams, and vales, and plains, Full looks the shining Day.--Our gardens wear The gorgeous robes of the consummate Year. With laugh, and shout, and song, stout Maids and Swains Heap high the fragrant hay, as thro' rough lanes Rings the yet empty waggon.--See in air The pendent cherries, red with tempting stains, Gleam thro' their boughs.--Summer, thy bright career Must slacken soon in Autumn's milder sway; Then thy now heapt and jocund meads shall stand Smooth,--vacant,--silent,--thro' th' exulting Land As wave thy Rival's golden fields, and gay Her Reapers throng. She smiles, and binds the sheaves; Then bends her parting step o'er fall'n and rustling leaves. _June 27th, 1782._ SONNET XXXVII. AUTUMN.