SONNET XXII. Written early in the Morning, soon after the Birth of my third Child; and inscribed to my Mother, who was present on the occasion. 31st March, 1803. AT this still hour, when, scarce by whistling swain, Bearing his pail, the meadow path is trod; And thick mists hovering silently retain On ivied scar, and on the hill's dark sod, Their nightly station; when throughout the plain No wreathed smoke betrays the unseen abode Of early shepherd; how can I restrain The hymn that mounts in gratitude to God? The name of Father, now, with threefold force, Lives in my heart; and she to whom I trace The gift of life, excites another source Of natural transport; her belov'd embrace Strengthening our dear, domestic intercourse, Protects this blossom of her grateful race. SONNET XXIII. 14th April, 1803. THERE is I know not what within my breast, Which, when these days of vernal beauty come, Excites my ardent sentiments to roam For happiness by mortals not possess'd: The song of birds, the lawn whose soft green vest Is prank'd with spring-flowers; the translucent foam Of yon clear stream that winds around my home, Whose mossy banks my tottering babes have press'd With daily joy: the hills aërial height Piled in the summer skies of cloudless blue, And faintly bathed with like cerulean hue, So raise my soul, that, when she shares the sight, Who doubles every charm she loves to view, My o'ercharg'd heart is troubled with delight. SONNET XXIV. 14th April, 1803. AND when the bleat of lambs from yonder bank Stole with the murmur of the summer breeze, That creeps among those ancient holly trees, And ivied rocks; when all my senses drank This river's charm, whose course pale violets prank, Primrose, and daisy; while upon my knees My babes would mimic nature's harmonies, How in my heart the sense of pleasure sank! "Twas pure affection's simple ecstacy! In Let not the spotless sense be e'er defiled, Which, at that willing hour, so sweetly smiled; years of manhood may the father see The pure enjoyments of the little child, The pledge of innocent maturity! SONNET XXV. TO MY MOTHER. AND art thou come and gone, childhood's first friend? Oh, sad condition of life's treacherous way, That thus our best delights must quickly end, And, save pale memory's treasures, all decay. And art thou gone? Who knows how time may rend Existence' feeble thread ere thou canst pay Another cordial visit, or descend Oblivious, on the feelings of to-day? We never more shall meet with thoughts like The certain hour is gone; nor mortal knows, When, where, or how, such hour may re appear. Fain would my heart avert the change; it owes To change such bitter pangs, all change brings -fear! SONNET XXVI. Storm at Night, in a mountainous Country, contrasted with Domestic and Fire-side comforts. How calm is my recess; and how the frost, Cowper's Task, Book iv. 11th May, 1803. Now howls the storm pent up amid the hills, At distance heard; with still increasing roar It sweeps along the flooded vale: no more The mountain stream, fed from a thousand rills, The poet's ear with soothing murmur thrills; But swol❜n, impetuous, rushing fiercely o'er, With vexed surge, the bounds it knew before, The tempest's solemn diapason fills, |