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SONNET XXX.

AH! Hope! I know thee not, tho' too long tried;
For thou hast been my friend in the deep night
Of secret grief, when I had none beside;

And thou hast left me, when thy promise bright
Seem'd bursting like the morn-beam on my sight;

Yet didst thou come again; nor did I chide
Thy fickle mockery, 'till, treacherous quite,

Thy smiles beguil'd me only to deride.

And would'st thou now return with the bright train

Of spring, to renovate this wither'd heart?

Then come 'tis something, while each hill and plain

Rejoices, from their joy to borrow part.

Ah! Hope, when spring is past, wilt thou remain?

Or com'st thou, like the spring, but to depart?

SONNET XXXI.

SPIRIT of evil, with which earth is rife,

Revenge! Revenge! thee all abjure and blame,

Yet when their hour is come invoke thy name;

Base men for thee in secret bare the knife;

The brave partake the peril of the strife;

The weak, the sword, more sure, of justice claim;

The strong, when they have blasted power and fame,
Give to their foe in scorn the curse of life,

The keenest, bitterest vengeance; for these all
Are only shapes thou tak'st to goad the mind,
Turning the heart's pure generous blood to gall;
And thus, Revenge! thou stalk'st thro' all mankind,
Till mighty nations madden at thy call,

And earth is waste, and sea incarnadin'd.

SONNET XXXII.

BECAUSE, wherever wit and beauty smil'd,

Praising their sweets, from nymph to nymph I've flown, Yet ne'er beyond the moment was beguil'd,

Nor knew e'en then a thought I would not own; For this that I'm too proud to love, you deem;

No! Amorette, no! things are not as they seem ; 'Twas not my pride forbade me, but my fear; Fair ones there were, but were the fair sincere?

O sole, sincere and fair by nature made,

Accept a heart, which ne'er till now believ'd,

A heart, which therefore ne'er has been deceiv'd,

Its virgin homage which to thee has paid,

By thee in perfect sway to be enjoy'd,

Undoubting, undivided, unalloy'd.

SONNET XXXIII.

AT BRUSSELS.

THE Sun in dying glory bright descended,

And from thy ramparts, Brussels, I behold

Cloud above cloud in rainbow splendour roll'd,

And tree, and tower, and hill, and champaign blended,

With harmonizing grace. Then why ascended

That sigh to Heav'n? The scene nor sad, nor old; Nor is my eye less bright nor heart more cold.

The grief, which at this hour my bosom rended, To thee belongs, beauteous, majestic river,

Thee, whom I sought and seek, still distant Rhine; Nor do his lips, whom sands and deserts sever From waters which are health and safety, pine

With keener longing, and more strong endeavour,
Than pants my heart, romantic stream, for thine.

D

SONNET XXXIV.

GENEVA.

LEMAN, thy Lake, with its sweet blending Rhone,
Romantic shores, still lovelier, which embrace thee,
Shall charm my heart, 'till life's last charms have flown,
Nor time, nor place, nor grief, nor joy efface thee :
But clear and bright, as at this hour I trace thee,
The wave-wash'd castle, the hill-circling town,

The villages beneath the cliffs, that grace thee,
The vines that fringe, the spiry firs that crown,

The bleak, black rocks that ever seem to frown,

The Chalets high as is the falcon's nest,

The snow-clad peaks, that on the clouds look down,

Where the sun's first, last beams in crimson rest;

These, clear as in thy mirror blue express'd,

Shall live for aye reflected in my breast.

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