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SONNET IH.

TO SIMPLICITY.

Nymph of the desert ! on this lonely shore
Simplicity, thy blessings still are mine,
And all thou canst not give I pleas'd resign,
For all beside can footh

my

soul no more. I ask no lavish heaps to swell my store, And purchase pleasures far remote from thine; Ye joys, for which the race of Europe pine, Ah, not for me your studied grandeur pour. Let me, where yon tall cliffs are rudely pild, Where towers the palm amidst the mountain trees, Where pendent from the steep, with graces wild, The blue liana floats upon the breeze, Still haunt those bold recesses, nature's child, Where thy majestic charms my spirit seize!

SONNET IV.

TO THE STRAWBERRY.

The Strawberry blooms upon its 'lowly bed,
Plant of my native soil !—the lime may Aling
More potent fragrance on the zephyr's wing;
The milky cocoa richer juices shed;
The white guava lovelier blossoms spread:
But not like thee to fond remembrance bring
The vanish'd hours of life's enchanting spring,
Short calendar of joys for ever fled !
Thou bidst the scenes of childhood rise to view,
The wild-wood path which fancy loves to trace;
Where, veil'd in leaves, thy fruit of rosy hue
Lurk'd on its pliant stem with modest grace:
But, ah! when thought would later years renew,
Alas, successive sorrows crowd the space!

SONNET V.

TO THE CURLEW.

Soori'd by the murmurs on the sea-beat shore,
His dun-grey plumage floating to the gale,
The Curlew blends his melancholy wail
With those hoarse sounds the rushing waters pour.
Like thee, congenial bird ! my steps explore
The bleak lone sea-beach, or the rocky dale,
And thun the orange bower, the myrtle vale,
luxuriance suits my

soul no more. I love the ocean's broad expanse, when drest In limpid clearnefs, or when tempests blow; When the finooth currents on its placid breast Flow calm as my past moments used to flow; Or, when its troubled waves refuse to rest, And seem the symbol of my present woe.

Whose gay

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PATHWAY of light ! o'er thy empurpled zone,
With lavish charms perennial summer strays;
Soft 'midst thy spicy groves the zephyr plays,
While far around the rich perfumes are thrown:
The amadavid-bird for thee alone,
Spreads his gay plumes that catch thy vivid rays;
For thee the gems with liquid lustre blaze,
And nature's various wealth is all thy own.
But, ah! not thine is twilight's doubtful gloom,
Those mild gradations, mingling day with night;
Here, instant darkness shrouds thy genial bloom,
Nor leaves my pensive soul that ling’ring light,
When musing mem'ry would each trace resume
Of fading pleasures in successive flight.

SONNET VII.

TO THE CALBASSIA-TREE.

SUBLIME Calbassia! luxuriant tree,
How soft the gloom thy bright-hu'd foliage throws,
While from thy pulp a healing balsam flows,
Whose power the fuff’ring wretch from pain can

free.
My pensive footsteps ever turn to thee!
Since oft, while musing on my lasting woes,
Beneath thy flow'ry white-bells I repose,
Symbol of friendship, doft thou seem to me:
For thus has friendship cast her foothing shade
O'er
my

unshelter'd bosom's keen distress; Thus sought to heal the wounds which love has

made, And temper bleeding sorrow's sharp excess ! Ah! not in vain the lends her balmy aid :

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