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SONNET VI.

It was some Spirit, Sheridan ! that breathed
O’er thy young mind such wildly various power!
My soul hath mark'd thee in her shaping hour,
Thy temples with Hymettian-flow'rets wreathed :
And sweet thy voice, as when o’er Laura's bier
Sad music trembled through Vauclusa's glade ;
Sweet, as at dawn the love-lorn Serenade
That wafts soft dreams to Slumber's listening ear.
Now patriot Rage and Indignation high
Swell the full tones! And now thine eye-beams

dance
Meanings of Scorn and Wit's quaint revelry !
Writhes inly from the bosom-probing glance
The Apostate by the brainless rout adored,
As erst that elder Fiend beneath great Michael's

sword.

SONNET VII.

O WHAT a loud and fearful shriek was there,
As though a thousand souls one death-groan

poured! Ah me! they saw beneath a hireling's sword Their Kosciusko fall! Though the swart air (As pauses the tired Cossac's barbarous yell Of triumph) on the chill and midnight gale Rises with frantic burst or sadder swell The dirge of murdered Hope! while Freedom

pale Bends in such anguish o'er her destined bier, As if from eldest time some Spirit meek Had gathered in a mystic urn each tear That ever on a patriot's furrowed cheek Fit channel found, and she had drained the bowl In the mere wilfulness, and sick despair of soul !

SONNET VIII.

As when far off the warbled strains are heard
That soar on Morning's wing the vales among,
Within his cage the imprisoned matin bird
Swells the full chorus with a generous song:
He bathes no pinion in the dewy light,
No Father's joy, no Lover's bliss he shares,
Yet still the rising radiance cheers his sight ;
His fellows' freedom soothes the captive's cares !
Thou, Fayette! who didst wake with startling

voice
Life's better sun from that long wintry night,
Thus in thy Country's triumphs shall rejoice,
And mock with raptures high the dungeon's might:
For lo ! the morning struggles into day,
And Slavery's spectres shriek and vanish from

the ray!

SONNET IX.

Nor Stanhope ! with the Patriot's doubtful name
I mock thy worth—Friend of the Human Race !
Since, scorning Faction's low and partial aim,
Aloof thou wendest in thy stately pace,
Thyself redeeming from that leprous stain,
Nobility: and aye unterrify'd
Pourest thine Abdiel warnings on the train
That sit complotting with rebellious pride
'Gainst her,* who from the Almighty's bosom leapt
With whirlwind arm, fierce Minister of Love!
Wherefore, ere Virtue o'er thy tomb hath wept,
Angels shall lead thee to the throne above :
And thou from forth its clouds shalt hear the voice,
Champion of Freedom and her God! rejoice!

* Gallic Liberty.

SONNET X.

Thou gentle look, that didst my soul beguile,
Why hast thou left me ? Still in some fond dream
Revisit my sad 'heart, auspicious Smile!
As falls on closing flowers the lunar beam :
What time, in sickly mood, at parting day
I lay me down and think of happier years ;
Of Joys, that glimmered in Hope's twilight ray,
Then left me darkling in a vale of tears.
O pleasant days of Hope—for ever gone !
Could I recall you !—But that thought is vain.
Availeth not Persuasion's sweetest tone
To lure the fleet-winged Travellers back again :
Yet fair, though faint, their images shall gleam
Like the bright Rainbow on a willowy stream.

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