laC IlENRY KIKKE WHITE .S POEMS. 



SONNET. 



Quick o'er the wintry waste dart fiery sbafts — 



Bleak blows the blast — now howls — then faintly dies- 

 And oft upon its awful wings it wafts 



Thy dying wanderer's distant, feeble cries. 

 Now, when athwart the gloom gaunt horror stalks, 



And midnight hags their damned vigils hold, 

 The pensive poet 'mid the wild waste walks. 



And ponders on the ills life's paths unfold. 

 Mindless of dangers hovering round, he goes, 



Insensible to every outward ill ; 

 Yet oft his bosom heaves with rending throes, 



And oft big tears adown his Avorn cheeks trill. 

 Ah ! 'tis the anguish of a mental sore, 

 ^Vhich gnaws his heart and bids him hope no more. 



SONNET. 



When I sit mirsiDg on the chequered past 



(A term much darkened with untimely woes,) 

 My thoughts revert to her, for whom still flows 

 The tear, though half disowned ; — and binding fast 

 Pride's stubborn cheat to my too yielding heart, 

 I say to her she robbed me of my rest, 

 When that was all my wealth. — 'Tis true my breast 

 Received from her this wearing lingering smart; 

 Yet ah 1 I cannot bid her form depart ; 



Though wronged, I love her — yet in anger love. 

 For she was most unworthy. — Then I prove 

 Vindictive joy ; and on my stern front gleams. 

 Throned in dark clouds, inflexible * * * 

 The native pride of my much injured heart. 



