SONNET. TO GENEVRA. THINE eyes blue tenderness, thy long fair hair, When from his beauty-breathing pencil born, (Except that thou hast nothing to repent) The Magdalen of Guido saw the morn— Such seem'st thou-but how much more excellent! With nought Remorse can claim-nor Virtue scorn. SONNET. TO GENEVRA. THY cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe, While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush, Gleams like a seraph from the sky descending, INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG. WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth, The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe, Not what he was, but what he should have been: Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth: Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit! By nature vile, ennobled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Pass on-it honours none you wish to mourn : I never knew but one, and here he lies. Newstead Albey, Oct. 30, 1808. FAREWELL. FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer But waft thy name beyond the sky. Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, Are in that word-Farewell!-Farewell! These lips are mute, these eyes are dry; The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. I only feel-Farewell!-Farewell! |