Sonnet XIII

Thou child of Night, and Silence, balmy Sleep,

Shed thy soft poppies on my aching brow!

And charm to rest the thoughts of whence, or how

Vanish'd that priz'd Affection, wont to keep

Each grief of mine from rankling into woe.

Then stern Misfortune from her bended bow

Loos'd the dire strings;—and Care, and anxious Dread

From my cheer'd heart, on sullen pinion, fled.

But now, the spell dissolv'd, th' Enchantress gone,

Ceaseless those cruel Fiends infest my day,

And sunny hours but light them to their prey.

Then welcome Midnight shades, when thy wish'd boon

May in oblivious dews my eye-lids steep,

Thou Child of Night, and Silence, balmy Sleep!