Hope comes to _Youth_, gliding thro' azure skies With amaranth crown:--her full robe, snowy white, Floats on the gale, and our exulting sight Marks it afar.--From _waning_ Life she flies, Wrapt in a mist, covering her starry eyes With her fair hand.--But now, in floods of light, She meets thee, SYLVIA, and with glances, bright As lucid streams, when Spring's clear mornings rise. From Hymen's kindling torch, a yellow ray The shining texture of her spotless vest Gilds;--and the Month that gives the early day The scent odōrous[1], and the carol blest, Pride of the rising Year, enamour'd MAY, Paints its redundant folds with florets gay. 1: _Odōrous._ Milton, in the Par. Lost, gives the lengthened and harmonious accent to that word, rather than the short, and _common_ one, ōdorous: ----“the bright consummate flower Spirit odōrous breathes.” SONNET LII. Long has the pall of Midnight quench'd the scene, And wrapt the hush'd horizon.--All around, In scatter'd huts, Labor, in sleep profound, Lies stretch'd, and rosy Innocence serene Slumbers;--but creeps, with pale and starting mien, Benighted SUPERSTITION.--Fancy-found, The late self-slaughter'd Man, in earth yet green And festering, burst from his incumbent mound, Roams!--and the Slave of Terror thinks he hears A mutter'd groan!--sees the sunk eye, that glares As shoots the Meteor.--But no more forlorn He strays;--the Spectre sinks into his tomb! For _now_ the jocund Herald of the Morn Claps his bold wings, and sounds along the gloom[1]. 1: “It faded at the crowing of the cock.” HAMLET. SONNET LIII. WRITTEN IN THE SPRING 1785 ON THE DEATH OF THE POET LAUREAT. The knell of WHITEHEAD tolls!--his cares are past, The hapless tribute of his purchas'd lays, His servile, his Egyptian tasks of praise!-- If not sublime his strains, Fame justly plac'd Their power above their work.--Now, with wide gaze Of much indignant wonder, she surveys To the life-labouring oar assiduous haste A glowing Bard, by every Muse embrac'd.-- O, WARTON! chosen Priest of Phœbus' choir! Shall thy rapt song be venal? hymn the THRONE, Whether its edicts just applause inspire, Or PATRIOT VIRTUE view them with a frown? What needs for _this_ the golden-stringed Lyre, The snowy Tunic, and the Sun-bright Zone[1]! 1: Ensigns of Apollo's Priesthood. SONNET LIV. A PERSIAN KING TO HIS SON. FROM A PROSE TRANSLATION IN SIR WILLIAM JONES' ESSAY ON THE POETRY OF THE EASTERN NATIONS.