Go Valentine and tell that lovely maid Whom Fancy still will pourtray to my sight, How her Bard lingers in this sullen shade, This dreary gloom of dull monastic night. Say that from every joy of life remote At evening's closing hour he quits the throng, Listening alone the ring-dove's plaintive note Who pours like him her solitary song. Say that her absence calls the sorrowing sigh, Say that of all her charms he loves to speak, In fancy feels the magic of her eye, In fancy views the smile illume her cheek, Courts the lone hour when Silence stills the grove And heaves the sigh of Memory and of Love. SONNET II. Think Valentine, as speeding on thy way Homeward thou hastest light of heart along, If heavily creep on one little day The medley crew of travellers among, Think on thine absent friend: reflect that here On Life's sad journey comfortless he roves, Remote from every scene his heart holds dear, From him he values, and from her he loves. And when disgusted with the vain and dull Whom chance companions of thy way may doom, Thy mind, of each domestic comfort full, Turns to itself and meditates on home, Ah think what Cares must ache within his breast Who loaths the lingering road, yet has no home of rest! SONNET III. Not to thee Bedford mournful is the tale Of days departed. Time in his career Arraigns not thee that the neglected year Has past unheeded onward. To the vale Of years thou journeyest. May the future road Be pleasant as the past! and on my friend Friendship and Love, best blessings! still attend, 'Till full of days he reach the calm abode Where Nature slumbers. Lovely is the age Of Virtue. With such reverence we behold The silver hairs, as some grey oak grown old That whilome mock'd the rushing tempest's rage Now like the monument of strength decayed With rarely-sprinkled leaves casting a trembling shade. SONNET IV. What tho' no sculptur'd monument proclaim Thy fate-yet Albert in my breast I bear Inshrin'd the sad remembrance; yet thy name Will fill my throbbing bosom. When DESPAIR The child of murdered HOPE, fed on thy heart, Loved honored friend, I saw thee sink forlorn Pierced to the soul by cold Neglect's keen dart, And Penury's hard ills, and pitying Scorn, And the dark spectre of departed JOY Inhuman MEMORY. Often on thy grave Love I the solitary hour to employ Thinking on other days; and heave the sigh Responsive, when I mark the high grass wave Sad sounding as the cold breeze rustles by. SONNET V.