SOXNETS. 129 



Poured his lone song, to which the surge replied : 

 Or thought I heard the hapless pilgrim's knell, 

 Lost in some wild enchanted forest's bounds. 

 By unseen beings sung ; or are these sounds 

 Such as, 'tis said, at night are known to swell 

 By startled shepherd on the lonely heath, 

 Keeping his night-watch sad, portending death ? 



SONNET IX. 



What art thou, Mighty One ! and where thy seat? 



Thou broodest on the calm that cheers the lands. 



And thou dost bear within thine awful hands. 

 The rolling thunders and the lightnings fleet. 

 Stern on thy dark-wrought car of cloud, and wind, 



Thou guidest the northern storm at night's dead 

 noon, 



Or on the red wing of the fierce Monsoon, 

 Disturb'st the sleeping giant of the Ind. 

 In the drear silence of the polar span 



Dost thou repose ? or in the solitude 

 Of sultry tracts, where the lone caravan 

 Hears nightly howl the tiger's hungry brood? 

 Vain thought ! the confines of his throne to trace, 

 Who glows through all the fields of boundless space. 



TO CAPEL LOFFT, EsQ. 



LoFFT, unto thee, one tributary song, 



The simple Muse, admiring, fain would bring ; 

 She longs to lisp thee to the listening throng, 



And with thy name to bid the woodlands ring. 

 Fain would she blazon all thy virtues forth, 



Thy warm philanthropy, thy justice mild, 

 Would say how thou didst foster kindred worth, 



And to thy bosom snatched misfortune's child: 



