SONNET TO DR. AUSTIN. 1792. AUSTIN! accept a grateful verse from me, And boldly call thee, being his, my own. SONNET TO GEORGE ROMNEY, ESQ. ON HIS PICTURE OF ME IN CRAYONS, DRAWN AT EARTHAM, IN THE 61ST YEAR OF MY AGE, IN THE MONTHS OF AUGUST AND SEPTEMBER. 1792. ROMNEY, expert infallibly to trace On chart or canvass, not the form alone And semblance, but, however faintly shown, The mind's impression too on every face With strokes that time ought never to erase, But this I mark, that symptoms none of woe Well-I am satisfied it should be so, Since on maturer thought the cause is clear; For in my looks what sorrow couldst thou see When I was Hayley's guest, and sat to thee? SONNET TO MRS. UNWIN. 1793. MARY! I want a lyre with other strings, Such aid from Heaven as some have feign'd they drew, An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new But thou hast little need. There is a book There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine, And, since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine. TO MARY. AUTUMN OF 1793. THE twentieth year is well nigh pass'd, Ah, would that this might be the last! But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, And all thy threads with magic art Have wound themselves about this heart, Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language utter'd in a dream; My Mary! Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, My Mary! Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, My Mary! For could I view nor them nor thee, Partakers of thy sad decline, My Mary! Thy hands their little force resign; My Mary! Such feebleness of limbs thou provest, My Mary! And still to love, though press'd with ill, With me is to be lovely still, My Mary! But, ah! by constant heed I know, My Mary! And should my future lot be cast My Mary! ON THE DEATH OF MRS. THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH. YE nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red Her favourite, even in his cage, Where Rhenus strays his vines among, Or only with a whistle bless'd, The honours of his ebon poll Were brighter than the sleekest mole, With which Aurora decks the skies, Above, below, in all the house, |