SONNET.

TO A FRIEND.

THE youthful lover, parted in despair

From her whose smiles his heart with rapture blest, Feels transient joy expand his sorrowing breast,

To view the portrait of his absent fair,

And mark the semblance of her artless air,

By Art's cold pencil though but ill express'd. The faint memorial, o'er and o'er caress'd, Gives him new strength his bitter loss to bear.

So, torn reluctant from my native plain,

Where thee, my friend! I crown'd with well-earn'd bays,

My kindling bosom shares its joys again,

On Thame's thronged banks to read thy rural lays ; For thee the Sylvan Muse, in sweetest strain, Has taught to celebrate the country's praise.

FEB. 5, 1801.

D. S. Y.

SONNET.

WRITTEN IN H CHURCH YARD, AT SUN-RISE.

BY MR. R. A. DAVENPORT.

HAIL to the hallow'd ground, where, hush'd to rest,
Of man, the cares, the fears and passions sleep!
O blest abode! here no sad sufferers weep,
By goading insults, pains and wrongs oppress'd!
Sweetly reclin'd on Earth's maternal breast,
Each mortal pang lost in oblivion deep,
All, all repose, while Peace and Silence keep
Their sacred guard around the confines blest.
And firm is your repose, ô tranquil train!

You wake not to the morning's rosy gleam,
To you, the birds trill their blithe song in vain:
I, wandering here, view the sun's rising beam,
And hear the early lark's sweet matin strain;

But, sick at heart, more sweet your slumber deem.

SONNET.

BRIGHT through the portals of the azure east
The silver crescent of the dewy eve

Sheds her mild influence upon Ocean's breast,
Gilding the white sails gliding o'er the wave.
The western gale bears through the star-gemmed skies
Celestial odours on its fluttering wing,

While the pure breath of humid Evening sighs
Around the wild flowers of the genial spring.
But ah! the victim of heart-withering woe,
In fairy scenes no respite finds from care,
Though Nature's varied beauties round him glow,
And balms ambrosial fill the tranquil air:
To tread the blasted heath when tempests roll,
Is more congenial to his darkened soul.

ADELINE

VOL. I.

SONNET.

TO A FADING FLOWER.

RY MR. R. A. DAVENPORT.

POOR, luckless flower, why languid droops thy head? Why do thy late warm tints begin to fail?

And that sweet fragrance, which perfumed the vale, Why is it now for ever from thee fed?

Say, dost thou mourn that from thy native bed
Untimely plucked thou shalt no more inhale
The Sun's warm ray, the renovating gale,
And to the bee thy treasured nectar spread?'
Alas! like thee from tranquil pleasure torn,
And doomed no more Hope's sunny smile to know,
Those faded hours of bliss I sadly mourn,

For which, though vain, Regret's fond tear will flow.
Thou happy diest. I, by pale anguish worn,
Unwilling live, to feel protracted woe.

SONNET.

TO CATHARINE:

ON MEETING her, for tHE FIRST TIME, IN A BOAT ON THE RIVER THAMES.

THO' lovely Catharine! whilst we ploughed the tide, I seemed but conscious of the scenes around, (The sunny lawns, and slopes with shade embrowned,)

And to depict them with my pencil tried;

Oft, with stolen glances I thy beauties spied;

Tho' blushing fear my lips in fetters bound,

I listened to thy voice and caught each sound; Tho' to an envied other it replied.

Would that my hand to paint thy lovely face

Had dared; my lips my passion to explain!
Yet, since I ne'er may see thee more, to trace
The scenes I penciled in thy sight again;
To hope thine eyes these artless lines may grace,
Will give some solace to my hopeless pain.

MAY 14, 1801.

D. S. Y.