O hill with green o’erspread, with groves o’erhung! 
    Where musing now, now trilling her sweet lay,
    Most like what bards of heavenly spirits say,
    Sits she by fame through every region sung: 
    My heart, which wisely unto her has clung—­
    More wise, if there, in absence blest, it stay! 
    Notes now the turf o’er which her soft steps stray,
    Now where her angel-eyes’ mild beam is flung;
    Then throbs and murmurs, as they onward rove,
    “Ah! were he here, that man of wretched lot,
    Doom’d but to taste the bitterness of love!”
    She, conscious, smiles:  our feelings tally not: 
    Heartless am I, mere stone; heaven is thy grove—­
    O dear delightful shade, O consecrated spot!

    WRANGHAM.

      Fresh, shaded hill! with flowers and verdure crown’d,
    Where, in fond musings, or with music sweet,
    To earth a heaven-sent spirit takes her seat! 
    She who from all the world has honour found. 
    Forsaking me, to her my fond heart bound
    —­Divorce for aye were welcome as discreet—­
    Notes where the turf is mark’d by her fair feet,
    Or from these eyes for her in sorrow drown’d,
    Then inly whispers as her steps advance,
    “Would for awhile that wreteh were here alone
    Who pines already o’er his bitter lot.” 
    She conscious smiles.  Not equal is the chance;
    An Eden thou, while I a heartless stone. 
    O holy, happy, and beloved spot!

    MACGREGOR.

SONNET CCVI.

Il mal mi preme, e mi spaventa il peggio.

TO A FRIEND, IN LOVE LIKE HIMSELF, HE CAN GIVE NO ADVICE BUT TO RAISE HIS SOUL TO GOD.

      Evil oppresses me and worse dismay,
    To which a plain and ample way I find;
    Driven like thee by frantic passion, blind,
    Urged by harsh thoughts I bend like thee my way. 
    Nor know I if for war or peace to pray: 
    To war is ruin, shame to peace, assign’d. 
    But wherefore languish thus?—­Rather, resign’d,
    Whate’er the Will Supreme ordains, obey. 
    However ill that honour me beseem
    By thee conferr’d, whom that affection cheats
    Which many a perfect eye to error sways,
    To raise thy spirit to that realm supreme
    My counsel is, and win those blissful seats: 
    For short the time, and few the allotted days.

    CAPEL LOFFT.

      The bad oppresses me, the worse dismays,
    To which so broad and plain a path I see;
    My spirit, to like frenzy led with thee,
    Tried by the same hard thoughts, in dotage strays,
    Nor knows if peace or war of God it prays,
    Though great the loss and deep the shame to me. 
    But why pine longer?  Best our lot will be,
    What Heaven’s high will ordains when man obeys. 
    Though I of that great honour