SONNET 



V^A^AAAAAAA^ 



Walton ! when, weary of the world, I turn 



My pensive soul to thee, I soothing find 



The meekness of thy plain contented mind 

 Act like some healing charm. From thee I learn 

 To sympatliizc with nature, nor repine 



At Fortune who, tho' lavish of her store, 



Too often leaves her favorites richly poor. 

 Wanting both health and energy divine. 

 Life's blessings to enjoy. Methinks ev'n now 



I hear thee 'neath the milk-white scented thorn 



Communing with thy pupils as the morn 

 Her rosy cheek displays, — while streams that flow, 



And all that gambol near their rippling source, 



Enchanted listen to thy sweet discourse. 



Epward Moxoiv. 



