SONNET.

VII.

WHAT painted vessel on the placid sea

Of Expectation spreads its silken sails,

Dips its smooth prow, and courts the buoyant gales,

Lull'd by these strains of syren Flattery?

Happy adventurer! speed thy course, for thee

The diamond flames, and Araby exhales

Her gums odōrous. Lo! thy star prevails, And Honour's port lies to thy entrance free." I know the vessel; o'er the guiding helm

Gay Confidence reclines, a smiling form! She braves the whirlpools in the watery realm,

Scorns the sunk rock, and thunder-bearing storm. Ask not her fate: where hoarse breakers roar,

yon

I mark'd the shipwreck on the craggy shore.

SONNET.

VIII.

STERN foe of fragile man, relentless Time!
How quickly hast thou stolen my happy days!
When the glad energies of Hope and Praise
Upbore my spirit to the cloudless clime
Of Phantasy. Oh! then what views sublime

Entranc'd me! how did my enraptur'd gaze
Doat on the scenes of life's untrodden maze,
Fresh colour'd by the hand of youthful prime!
I do not sigh, because thy sober grey

Blends with the chesnut in my blanching hair; Nor that the roses on my cheeks decay;

Nor that my brow is wrinkled o'er by care; I mourn life's opening scenes, divinely gay; I mourn life's present prospects, blank and bare.

SONNET.

WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OF EVE.

BY MR. J. H. L. HUNT.

"TIS Eve; 'tis solemn Eve!-Still, pensive Thought
Sits in his robe of twilight sadly grey,
Musing o'er shadows by his dark eyes caught,
The dimm'd and dying majesty of Day!

Lorn murmurs tremble thro' the mournful trees,
Mute Philomel her leafy couch has found,
And Melancholy's music in the breeze

Whispers a note of soothing sadness round!
And now as Night her darker mantle draws,
The groves more low and deeply sullen wave,
Save when, as solemn comes a dreary pause,
'Tis stillness all, the stillness of the grave!-
The grave!-Ah, yet her absence I deplore,
Whose morn, and day, and eve are now no more,

SONNET.

WHEN storm-fraught vapours shroud heaven's ample

dome,

And loud and long the deep-voiced thunder roars, The lordly eagle spurns his airy home, And o'er the cliff that props the sky he

No chilling fears arrest his venturous flight,

soars.

Though the dread scene air's feebler legions shun; Alone he braves Destruction's giant might,

While shuddering Nature trembles on her throne. Thus, while the storms of fate tremendous roll, And threaten ruin in their vengeful course, On seraph wings the heaven-inspired soul Triumphant rises o'er their feeble force,

While Faith and Hope their brightest beams prepare, To chase afar the dæmons of Despair.

ADELINE.

SONNET.

TO THE FAIRIES.

BY MR. R. A. DAVENPORT.

O! listen to my prayer, ye elfin train,

Who issuing from your cells at this lone hour, With printless footsteps on the silent plain, Beneath some ivied, overhanging tower,

In measur'd cadence round the dew-hung flower,
Dance to your tiny lute's melodious strain :
To you, ye fairy people, I complain,

For well I ween ye know the hidden power
Of every herb that grows in dell or bower,
Or on the margent of the murmuring stream:
Say is there aught can heal the sad heart's pain?.

O make it mine-and may the moon's mild beam Shine on your sportive revels all the year,

Nor e'er unhallow'd step invade your haunts so dear !