SONNET XVI. STONEHENGE, By the late ROBERT LOVELL. Was it a Spirit on yon shapeless pile? It wore methought an hoary Druid's form, The broken strain, and plaintively deplores Whose careless steps these sacred haunts profane. O'er the wild plain the hurrying tempest flies, And 'mid the storm unheard, the song of Sorrow dies. SONNET XVII. By the late ROBERT LOVELL. The cloudy blackness gathers o'er the sky Blind ruin wide: while Hate with scowling brow So should fair order from the Tempest rise And Freedom's sun-beams gild unclouded skies. SONNET XVIII. METAPHOR. When Earth was young and Nature Man's delight, The protean Friend of Poesy arose. His eyes around with wonder wild he throws And soars a mountain; high in æther bright His summit nods. Then as electric fire, With swift mutation, from the Earth he rang'd For loud in thunder roar'd his awful voice With lightning instantaneous. As her choice J. J. SONNET XIX. PERSONIFICATION. Nor did sweet Poesy long time defer And Virtue stood erect and Patience smil'd, And Heaven assum'd a virile form, whilst stood The brood Of Vice in black-brow'd frown; Revenge and Hate, Discord and Death, and stern defying Fate, Walk'd o'er the earth, destroying. Such is PERSONIFICATION. He whom she employs To deck her labors and increase her joys. J. J SONNET XX. O God! have mercy in this dreadful hour The maddened waves and know no succour near, To And the wild sea that to the tempest raves; And only see the billow's gleaming light; O God have mercy on the mariner! |