SONNET.

On bliss, how dearly prized! Once more enchain
My weary soul; return, O Sleep, and shed
Thy dews upon my eyelids; round my head
Bid thy light visions float in airy train,
And foremost that enchantress bring again.

Oh bring her clad in smiles, and round her spread The softened grace, the meekness that has fed The flames of love, and bowed me to her reign. Then come, sweet Sleep, to my fond soul be shown That beauteous vision, smiling sweet and fair, And banished from my pillow grief and care: Too much of these my waking hours have known; Ah why do those soft smiles but bless my dreams! Why fly they when the early morning beams!

SONNET.

AT HARLECH CASTLE.

HARLECH! with many a pause and cautious tread I climb thy walls; while, wafted from the main With low wail, as of one long racked by pain, Through thy lone towers the breezes sigh; its head The long lank grass that o'er thy tops is spread

Waves wildly; thy hoar ruins show how vain Conquest's proud pageant, victory's lofty strain, And the prized wreath that shades the hero's head. Thy walls are mouldering; for the clanging steel And din of arms, the murm'ring mountain bee, Humming amid the wild flowers that conceal Thy turret tops, shall give her minstrelsy; And Mercy smiles, e'en in thy courts, to see The waving harvest all its stores reveal.

SONNET.

AT CONWAY CASTLE.

YE towers that lift your aged brows sublime, The mark of tempests; many a future day Shall give you to my mind when far away: Then, as bright Fancy leads me, I shall climb Your tufted walls, scathed by the hand of time; Haply her magic pencil may pourtray

Your festive halls, as when in proud array Chiefs shared the banquet; then the forceful rhyme, The song of bards, the wild harp's glowing strain, Shall pass before me. Yet your blazing halls, Your pristine grandeur, touch not like your walls, With ivy crowned, and dashed with many a stain. Ah! sacred are the thoughts that on me rise, As through your mouldering towers the blast of ever ag sighs.

SONNET.

SPURIOUS.

DIM is the beam of morning; and the blast
Scatters the ocean surge; the wild waves roar,
In tumult lost, and down the troubled shore
The spirit of the storm in clouds hath passed.
High o'er the deep the foam careering rides ;
Thick flashing through the air red lightnings

play,

Gleaming athwart the gloom, and tinge the spray With dismal splendour: yet to-morrow's tides May steal along in stillness; then once more

The sparkling wave with orient light shall stream, Once more the morn shall smile serene, and pour On all her freshening dew and golden beam. But ah! what calm can lull with sweet controul The tempest that so long hath vexed my soul?

SONNET.

OH! breathe once more that air; Oh! yet bid

sound

Once more that well-remembered much-loved lay, First heard by me when in life's golden May My happy hours danced on in laughing round; There where, through verdant banks with poplar crowned,

Smooth Wever steals along his silent way,

Winding in many a maze with sinuous play; Near whose cool wave, as on the flowery ground Supine I lay, those sounds first charmed my ear. Yet once more breathe that air beloved so well; For oh! each note that sounds is a strong spell To call up sweet remembrance, to endear Some long-past day, and place before my soul Her from whose lips the warbled lay first stole.