SONNETS. 133 



TO A TAPER. 



*Tis midnight. — On the globe dead slumber sits, 



And all is silence — in the hour of sleep ; 

 Save when the hollow gust, that swells bj fits, 



In the dark wood roars fearfully and deep. 

 I wake alone to listen and to weep. 



To watch, my taper, thy jDale beacon burn ; 

 And, as still memory does her vigils keep, 



To think of days that never can return. 

 By thy pale ray I raise my languid head, 



My eye surveys the solitary gloom, 

 And the sad meaning tear, unmixt with dread, 



Tells thou dost light me to the silent tomb. 

 Like thee I wane ; like thine my life's last ray 

 Will fade in loneliness, unwept, away. 



Yes, 'twill be over soon. — This sickly dream 



Of life will vanish from my feverish brain ; 

 And death my wearied spirit will redeem 



From this wild region of unvaried pain. 

 Yon brook will glide as softly as before, — 



Yon landscape smile, — yon golden harvest grow, 

 Yon sprightly lark on mounting wing will soar, 

 When Henry's name is heard no more below. 

 WTier'S^^^ all my youthful friends caress, 



wave '^ health, and future evils brave ; 

 Direct my steps ; thefe"^, fmiling children bless, 

 I'll sit remote from woriei.in my silent grave. 

 Till through my soul shaKest the bitter cup ; 

 And whisper sounds of comf -^^ ^^ ^P* 



