For me, poor moralizer, I will run, Dejected, to some solitary state: The muse has set her seal on me, She set her seal on Dermody, It is the seal of fate: In some lone spot my bones may lie, Secure from human hate. Yet ere I go I'll drop one silent tear, Where lies unwept the poet's fallen head: May peace her banners o'er him wave; For me in my deserted grave No friend a tear shall shed: Yet may the lily and the rose Bloom on my grassy bed. SONNETS. SONNET TO THE RIVER TRENT. WRITTEN ON RECOVERY FROM SICKNESS. Once more, O Trent! along thy pebbly marge A pensive invalid, reduced and pale, From the close sick-room newly set at large, Woos to his wan worn cheek the pleasant gale. O! to his ear how musical the tale Which fills with joy the throstle's little throat! And all the sounds which on the fresh breeze sail, How wildly novel on his senses float! It was on this that many a sleepless night, As lone he watch'd the taper's sickly gleam, And at his casement heard, with wild affright, The owl's dull wing, and melancholy scream, On this he thought, this, this, his sole desire, Thus once again to hear the warbling woodland choir. SONNET. Give me a cottage on some Cambrian wild, Where far from cities I may spend my days; And, by the beauties of the scene beguiled, May pity man's pursuits and shun his ways. While on the rock I mark the browsing goat, List to the mountain-torrent's distant noise, Or the hoarse bittern's solitary note, I shall not want the world's delusive joys; But with my little scrip, my book, my lyre, Shall think my lot complete, nor covet more; And when, with time, shall wane the vital fire, I'll raise my pillow on the desert shore, And lay me down to rest where the wild wave Shall make sweet music o'er my lonely grave. SONNET.[1] SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN ADDRESSED BY A FEMALE LUNATIC TO A LADY. Lady, thou weepest for the Maniac's woe, And thou art fair, and thou, like me, art young; Oh! may thy bosom never, never know The pangs with which my wretched heart is wrung. I had a mother once--a brother too-- (Beneath yon yew my father rests his head:) I had a lover once, and kind and true, But mother, brother, lover, all are fled! Yet, whence the tear which dims thy lovely eye? Oh! gentle lady--not for me thus weep, The green sod soon upon my breast will lie, And soft and sound will be my peaceful sleep. Go thou, and pluck the roses while they bloom-- My hopes lie buried in the silent tomb. Footnotes: [1] This Quatorzain had its rise from an elegant Sonnet, "occasioned by seeing a young female Lunatic," written by Mrs. Lofft, and published in the Monthly Mirror. SONNET. Supposed to be written by the unhappy Poet Dermody in Storm, while on board a Ship in his Majesty's service.