Part Second. SONNET XVIII. As one who, long by wasting sickness worn, Weary has watch'd the ling'ring night, and heard Salute his lonely porch, now first at morn He the green slope and level meadow views, Or turns his ear to every random song, Heard the green river's winding marge along, The whilst each sense is steep'd in still delight. With such delight, o'er all my heart I feel, Sweet Hope! thy fragrance pure and healing incense steal. SONNET XIX. OCTOBER 1792. Go then, and join the roaring city's throng! Live happy; sometimes the forsaken shade Rememb'ring, and these trees now left to fade; Nor, 'mid the busy scenes and "hum of men," Wilt thou my cares forget: in heaviness To me the hours shall roll, weary and slow, Till mournful autumn past, and all the snow Of winter pale! the glad hour I shall bless, That shall restore thee from the crowd again, To the green hamlet in the peaceful plain. |