SONNET XI. THOU bleedest, my poor HEART! and thy distress And probe thy sore wound sternly, though the while Even as a Mother her sweet infant heir That wan and sickly droops upon her breast! SCHILLER! that hour I would have wished to die, Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood Wandering at eve with finely frenzied eye Beneath some vast old tempest-swinging wood! Awhile with mute awe gazing I would brood : weep aloud in a wild ecstasy! Then VOL. I. F LINES COMPOSED WHILE CLIMBING THE LEFT ASCENT OF BROCKLEY COOMB, SOMERSETSHIRE, MAY, 1795. With many a pause and oft reverted eye I climb the Coomb's ascent: sweet songsters near The Yew tree bursts! Beneath its dark green boughs My gaze! Proud Towers, and Cots more dear to me, LINES IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER. O PEACE, that on a lilied bank dost love Who vowed to meet her ere the morning light, But broke my plighted word-ah! false and recreant wight! Last night as I my weary head did pillow With thoughts of my dissevered Fair engrossed, Chill Fancy drooped wreathing herself with willow, As though my breast entombed a pining ghost. "From some blest couch, young Rapture's bridal boast, Rejected SLUMBER! hither wing thy way; "But leave me with the matin hour, at most! "As night-closed Floweret to the orient ray, 66 My sad heart will expand, when I the Maid survey." But Love, who heard the silence of my thought, Contrived a too successful wile, I ween: And whispered to himself, with malice fraught— "Too long our Slave the Damsel's smiles hath seen: "To-morrow shall he ken her altered mien!" He spake, and ambushed lay, till on my bed The morning shot, her dewy glances keen, When as I'gan to lift my drowsy head "Now, Bard! I'll work thee woe!" the laughing Elfin said. SLEEP, softly-breathing God! his downy wing When twanged an arrow from Love's mystic string, |