SONNET II.

ON SUNSET.

OFT have I sat upon a lone hill side,

In a clear evening of all-wakeful rest,

To view the sun betake him to the west,

Whose clouds he thrilled with light from side to

side:

And fancy, in their many shapes, descried

Mounts, plains, and vales, and floods the loveliest;

As 'twere a world of Edens ever-blest,

The goal of all bright days, where joys abide, And mock not.-When this soul-uplifting dream Past from me, its starry traces, on my mind, Made the near twilight doubly darker seem. Thus, when the muse hath raised us from this blind And clouded world, into a cloudless beam,

How night-like seem the thoughts of human kind!

SONNET III.

ON MOONRISE.

BEACON of memory! Thou that, wanly bright,
Arisest o'er yon summits, and dost wed

The soul to peace, with charm of gentle might, Calm, holy, hallowing, awful, yet, not dread; On the pure young thou beamest such delight

As doubles even their bliss; the hoariest head
Grows wiser, gazing on thy wondrous light
That o'er the bosom-dearth like dew is shed!

As refluent from some fair primal scene

Of being, oft, with fascinated eye,

I seek thy radiance which still seems to tell That once my feet had on thy mountains been, In climes Arcadian,-that from thee I fell, Exiled to earth, and drear mortality.

SONNET IV.

ON STARLIGHT.

MILLIONS of worlds! Creation's curbless race!
Millions of worlds, innumerably spread,

Throughout the all-immeasurable space!

This is a thought too wondrous, vast, and dread,

Even for the angels. The Unlimited,

The Eternal Mind, alone, can e'er embrace

Height, depth, breadth, matter, form, duration, spread

Endless, where the created may not trace.

It is no marvel that the minds of men

Should, in those nightly miracles, descry

Mysterious power, and deem it destiny:

Those are the shore-lights of eternity;

And whoso giveth heed to them, shall, then,
Read deep in fate beyond the magian's ken.

SONNET V.

HOPE.

HOPE, I know all thy falsehood; and I know

How wholesome is the lore thy foe imparts;
With what high wisdom, Time informs our hearts,
Unteaching thy sweet lessons: be it so.

Alas! can sighs be all the thanks we owe

For gifts so precious? With what Parthian darts
Doth Memory wound, when all thy wizard-arts
Fail, and the soul hath lost its credulous glow!

O thou dear traitress, 'tis in vain,-in vain,

That of truth's freezing fount I've tasted : still, I love thy treasons and betraying smile. Though in thy cup, for me, but dregs remain, Withhold not the all-vital charm, until

These locks are greyer. Mock me yet a while!

SONNET VI.

WHO are the rich? They who have gathered gold
By any means, and wallow in such pleasure
As gold can buy? Is this the narrow measure
By which the wealth of our great world is told?
Deem ye the dullard rich, whose pampered mold
Shuts in a paltry soul, who feels the pressure
Of hoarded cares, and whose most hidden treasure
Is shining dross alone? Are such enrolled
The favoured ones? No: only in the mind

Can we be rich or poor. The living power
Of loftier thought and feeling is, alone,
Worthy the name of wealth in these we find

:

All that adds worth to life; and thus each one

That hath those gifts may smile, though Fortune

lower.