Sonnet XC

THE PROSPECT A FLOODED VALE.

Sonnet written in the character of Werter.

My hour is not yet come!—these burning eyes

Have not yet look'd their last!—else, 'mid the roar

Of this wild Storm, what gloomy joy to pour

My freed, exhaling Soul!—sublime to rise,

Rend the conflicting clouds, inflame the skies,

And lash the torrents!—Bending to explore

Our evening seat, my straining eye once more

Roves the wide watry Waste;—but nought descries

Save the pale Flood, o'erwhelming as it strays.

Yet Oh! lest my remorseless Fate decree

That all I love, with life's extinguish'd rays

Sink from my soul, to soothe this agony,

To balm that life, whose loss may forfeit thee,

Come dear remembrance of departed Days!