At length with him preferr'd I not to play, And so, too, with the wretched sons of clay, When four and three-lined verses they compil'd. But punishment pursues the scoffer straight, As if by serpent-torch of furies led From bill to vale, from land to sea to fly. I hear the genie's laughter at my fate; Yet do I find all power of thinking fled In sonnet-rage and love's fierce ecstasy. 1807-8. ----- THE CHRISTMAS-BOX. THIS box, mine own sweet darling, thou wilt find With many a varied sweetmeat's form supplied; The fruits are they of holy Christmas tide, But baked indeed, for children's use design'd. I'd fain, in speeches sweet with skill combin'd, Poetic sweetmeats for the feast provide; But why in such frivolities confide? Perish the thought, with flattery to blind! One sweet thing there is still, that from within, Within us speaks,--that may be felt afar; This may be wafted o'er to thee alone. If thou a recollection fond canst win, As if with pleasure gleam'd each well-known star, The smallest gift thou never wilt disown. 1807. ----- THE WARNING. WHEN sounds the trumpet at the Judgment Day, And when forever all things earthly die, We must a full and true account supply Of ev'ry useless word we dropp'd in play. But what effect will all the words convey Wherein with eager zeal and lovingly, That I might win thy favour, labour'd I, If on thine ear alone they die away? Therefore, sweet love, thy conscience bear in mind, Remember well how long thou hast delay'd, So that the world such sufferings may not know. If I must reckon, and excuses find For all things useless I to thee have said, To a full year the Judgment Day will grow 1807─8. ----- THE EPOCHS. ON Petrarch's heart, all other days before, In flaming letters written, was impress d GOOD FRIDAY. And on mine, be it confess'd, Is this year's ADVENT, as it passeth o'er. I do not now begin,--I still adore Her whom I early cherish'd in my breast;, Then once again with prudence dispossess'd, And to whose heart I'm driven back once more. The love of Petrarch, that all-glorious love, Was unrequited, and, alas, full sad; One long Good Friday 'twas, one heartache drear But may my mistress' Advent ever prove, With its palm-jubilee, so sweet and glad, One endless Mayday, through the livelong year! 1807. ----- THE DOUBTERS AND THE LOVERS. THE DOUBTERS. YE love, and sonnets write! Fate's strange behest! The heart, its hidden meaning to declare, Must seek for rhymes, uniting pair with pair: Learn, children, that the will is weak, at best. Scarcely with freedom the o'erflowing breast As yet can speak, and well may it beware; Tempestuous passions sweep each chord that's there, Then once more sink to night and gentle rest. Why vex yourselves and us, the heavy stone Up the steep path but step by step to roll?