SONNET. 443 



Vexed with myself for having waited to be forced into confession, 

 I opened the wicket for his party, offering to shew them my well. 

 Alas ! the seeming good which brought me into this peril, had failed 

 me at mine extremest need. It was dry ! They would have dashed 

 my Junia from her sacred throne, and slain me, but for the maids and 

 matrons whose dear ones I had saved to them, until this accursed day. 

 All was tumult, when, suddenly, the earth rocked beneath our feet, the 

 mountain sent forth a roar and crying " The Augury !" they all fled. 

 I secured myself against their return, and now, by the hot flashes which 

 break the horrid gloom, trace these lines, while friends and foes expire 

 together. The general doom terminates all lesser causes. I pity and 

 forgive. What shrieks of madness ! and there sits Junia unmoved. A 

 gentler death was thine, beloved ! than, hadst thou longer stayed, thou 

 must have met. I could not have borne to feel this hopeless sympathy 

 for thee ; to see thee suffer it, to look on thy blackened corse. Thy 

 beauty will survive, if the world doth; its sublime calm mans my 

 heart ; let terror rage without, alj here is quiet. I had a home that is 

 not, a fame that I outlive, a wealth that is buried, a power that is past 

 away. Now I have nothing but thee ; and shall not long be more 

 sentient them thyself. Gods ! may we not unite in Elysium ? The 

 next crash must end all. It will be welcome, for I see thee no more, 

 but die in thy presence Junia !" 



The last word was imperfect. Some bigot, calling the statue a 

 Pagan abomination, either destroyed or concealed it; but doubtless 

 many fossil remains still exist, that were dipped in the well of the 

 potter ; and many noble ladies may wear his gems, who dream not of 

 their origin. 



Assuredy there are others, like Caius, by no fault of their own, 

 destined to ill-luck, till their misery seems so essential to the order of 

 nature, that, should they ever begin, in any way to thrive the next 

 thing to expect were that the world would come to an end ! 



SONNET. 



SEE ! the untried morn is on her way ; 



Through the deep shades of night, deeply serene 

 She steers two wide divided worlds between, 



Starless or star-led, never gone astray. 



So let us, weak, her ministry obey ; 



Though outcast pilgrims of a wintry scene, 

 Though clouds surround and darkness intervene, 



Yet, may we never our own steps betray, 

 But through the dim obscurity of fate, 



In our own patience let us still abide ; 



Still rais'd above our own sad mortal state, 



To count the ebb and flow of fortune's tide. 



Content, fair moon, to seek our welcome shrine, 

 And fade away in purity, like thine. 



