Sonnet LXX

TO A YOUNG LADY IN AFFLICTION,

WHO FANCIED SHE SHOULD

NEVER MORE BE HAPPY.

Yes, thou shalt smile again!—Time always heals

In youth, the wounds of Sorrow.—O! survey

Yon now subsided Deep, thro' Night a prey

To warring Winds, and to their furious peals

Surging tumultuous!—yet, as in dismay,

The settling Billows tremble.—Morning steals

Grey on the rocks;—and soon, to pour the day

From the streak'd east, the radiant Orb unveils

In all his pride of light.—Thus shall the glow

Of beauty, health, and hope, by soft degrees

Spread o'er thy breast; disperse these storms of woe;

Wake, with sweet pleasure's sense, the wish to please,

Till from those eyes the wonted lustres flow,

Bright as the Sun on calm'd and crystal Seas.