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SONNET.

BY MR. R. A. DAVENPORT.

YE spirits pure, who o'er each plant presiding,
In secret cells their potent gums prepare;
Ye who chase baneful vapours from the air,
Viewless, in legions, on the swift winds riding;
Ye, who through beds of ore your clear springs guid-
ing,

With chymic art dissolve each atom rare;

And ye who make the mineral tribes your care,
Deep in the dark and cavern'd earth abiding;
O mighty bands, your friendly aid intreating,

Trembling I bend, nor let my suit be vain;
Lo, from Miranda's cheek the rose is fleeting;
Her eyes' dimm'd lustre, speaks the force of pain;
I only ask-my heart with friendship beating,
Some sovereign balm to bring fair health again.

1797.

SONNET.

FROM THE ITALIAN OF MILTON.

Written during his Travels.

A PLAIN youth, Lady! and a simple lover,
Since of myself a last leave I must take,
To you devoutly of my heart I make
An humble gift, and doing this I proffer
A heart that is intrepid, slow to waver,

Gracious in thought, discreet, good, prompt, awake;
If the great earth should to her centre shake,
Arm'd in itself, and adamant all over;
Not more secure from envy, chance, desire,
And vulgar hopes and fears that vex the earth,
Than wedded to high valour, wit, and worth,
To the sweet Muses, and the sounding lyre:
Weak only will you find it in that part
Where Love incurably hath fix'd his dart,

SONNET.

THE MIDNIGHT REVEL.

HARK! how the demons of intemp'rance yell O'er yon Circean bowl, whose pois'nous fumes, Involving Reason's seat, to phrensy swell

The reeling sense, and sink the soul in glooms! Now frantic Mirth the grinning group illumes; See how her phosphor flash each visage fires! Riot unrein'd, her midnight pomp assumes,

And roaring nonsense every tongue inspires. 'Tis done the furious contest Nature tires; Oblivious stupor steeps her closing eye; Yet oft she starts, while dreaming thirst aspires To catch the fancied potion passing by. Late morn returns. Faint Nature wakes again, Stung with remorse, and agonis'd with pain.

HAFIZ.

DROMORÉ,

SONNETS,

ATTEMPTED IN THE MANNER OF

CONTEMPORARY WRITERS.

SONNET I.

PENSIVE, at eve, on the hard world I mus'd,
And my poor heart was sad: so at the moon
I gaz'd-and sigh'd, and sigh'd!-for, ah! how soon
Eve darkens into night. Mine eye perus'd
With tearful vacancy, the dampy grass,
Which wept and glitter'd in the paly ray:
And I did pause me on my lonely way,

But, alas!

And mus'd me on those wretched ones, who pass
O'er the black heath of SORROW.
Most of MYSELF I thought: when it befell,
That the sooth SPIRIT of the breezy wood
Breath'd in mine ear-" All this is very well;
But much of one thing is for no thing good."
Ah! my poor heart's inexplicable swell!

NEHEMIAH HIGGINBOTTOM.

SONNET II.

TO SIMPLICITY.

O! I do love thee, meek Simplicity!
For of thy lays the lulling simpleness

Goes to my heart, and soothes each small distress,
Distress tho' small, yet haply great to me!
'Tis true, on lady Fortune's gentlest pad
I amble on; yet, tho' I know not why,
So sad I am!-but should a friend and I
Grow cool and miff, O! I am very sad!
And then with sonnets and with sympathy
My dreamy bosom's mystic woes I pall;
Now of my false friend plaining plaintively,
Now raving at mankind in general;
But whether sad or fierce, 'tis simple all,
All very simple, meek SIMPLICITY!

NEHEMIAH HIGGINBOTTOM.

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