SONNET LXIII. TO COLEBROOKE DALE. Thy GENIUS, Colebrooke, faithless to his charge, Amid thy woods and vales, thy rocks and streams, Form'd for the Train that haunt poetic dreams, Naiads, and Nymphs,--now hears the toiling Barge And the swart Cyclops ever-clanging forge Din in thy dells;--permits the dark-red gleams, From umber'd fires on all thy hills, the beams, Solar and pure, to shroud with columns large Of black sulphureous smoke, that spread their veils Like funeral crape upon the sylvan robe Of thy romantic rocks, pollute thy gales, And stain thy glassy floods;--while o'er the globe To spread thy stores metallic, this rude yell Drowns the wild woodland song, and breaks the Poet's spell. SONNET LXIV. TO MR. HENRY CARY, ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS SONNETS. Prais'd be the Poet, who the Sonnet's claim, Severest of the orders that belong Distinct and separate to the Delphic Song, Shall venerate, nor its appropriate name Lawless assume. Peculiar is its frame, From him deriv'd, who shunn'd the City Throng, And warbled sweet thy rocks and streams among, Lonely Valclusa!--and that Heir of Fame, Our greater MILTON, hath, by many a lay Form'd on that arduous model, fully shown That English Verse may happily display Those strict energic measures, which alone Deserve the name of SONNET, and convey A grandeur, grace and spirit, all their own. SONNET LXV. TO THE SAME. Marcellus, since the ardors of my strain To thy young eyes and kindling fancy, gleam With somewhat of the vivid hues, that stream From Poesy's bright orb, each envious stain Shed by dull Critics, venal, vex'd and vain, Seems recompens'd at full;--and so wou'd seem Did not _maturer_ Sons of Phœbus deem My verse Aonian.--Thou, in time, shalt gain, Like them, amid the letter'd World, _that_ sway Which makes encomium _fame_;--so thou adorn, Extend, refine and dignify thy lay, And Indolence, and Syren Pleasure scorn; Then, at high noon, thy Genius shall display The splendors promis'd in its shining morn. SONNET LXVI. Nobly to scorn thy gilded veil to wear, Soft Simulation!--wisely to abstain From fostering Envy's asps;--to dash the bane Far from our hearts, which Hate, with frown severe, Extends for those who wrong us;--to revere With soul, or grateful, or resign'd, the train Of mercies, and of trials, is to gain A quiet Conscience, best of blessings here!-- Calm Conscience is a land-encircled bay, On whose smooth surface Tempests never blow; Which shall the reflex of our life display Unstain'd by crime, tho' gloom'd with transient woe; While the bright hopes of Heaven's eternal day Upon the fair and silent waters glow. SONNET LXVII. ON DOCTOR JOHNSON'S UNJUST CRITICISMS IN HIS LIVES OF THE POETS[1].