By Derwent's rapid stream as oft I stray'd, With Infancy's light step and glances wild, And saw vast rocks, on steepy mountains pil'd, Frown o'er th' umbrageous glen; or pleas'd survey'd The cloudy moonshine in the shadowy glade, Romantic Nature to th' enthusiast Child Grew dearer far than when serene she smil'd, In uncontrasted loveliness array'd. But O! in every Scene, with sacred sway, Her graces fire me; from the bloom that spreads Resplendent in the lucid morn of May, To the green light the little Glow-worm sheds On mossy banks, when midnight glooms prevail, And softest Silence broods o'er all the dale. SONNET VIII. TRANSLATION. Short is the time the oldest Being lives, Nor has Longevity one _hour_ to waste; Life's duties are proportion'd to the haste With which it fleets away;--each day receives Its task, that if neglected, surely gives The morrow _double_ toil.--Ye, who have pass'd In idle sport the days that fled so fast, Days, that nor Grief recalls, nor Care retrieves, At length be wise, and think, that of the part Remaining in that vital period given, How short the date, and at the prospect start, Ere to the extremest verge your steps be driv'n! Nor let a moment unimprov'd depart, But view it as the _latest_ trust of Heav'n! SONNET IX. Seek not, my Lesbia, the sequester'd dale, Or bear thou to its shades a _tranquil_ heart; Since rankles most in _solitude_ the smart Of injur'd charms and talents, when they fail To meet their due regard;--nor e'en prevail Where most they wish to please:--Yet, since thy part Is large in Life's chief blessings, why desert Sullen the world?--Alas! how many wail Dire loss of the best comforts Heaven can grant! While they the bitter tear in secret pour, Smote by the death of Friends, Disease, or Want, _Slight_ wrongs if thy self-valuing soul deplore, Thou but resemblest, in thy lonely haunt, Narcissus pining on the watry shore. SONNET X. TO HONORA SNEYD. HONORA, shou'd that cruel time arrive When 'gainst my truth thou should'st my errors poize, Scorning remembrance of our vanish'd joys; When for the love-warm looks, in which I live, But cold respect must greet me, that shall give No tender glance, no kind regretful sighs; When thou shalt pass me with averted eyes, Feigning thou see'st me not, to sting, and grieve, And sicken my sad heart, I cou'd not bear Such dire eclipse of thy soul-cheering rays; I cou'd not learn my struggling heart to tear From thy lov'd form, that thro' my memory strays; Nor in the pale horizon of Despair Endure the wintry and the darken'd days. _April 1773._ SONNET XI.