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FOUR SONNETS.

(For the Mirror.)

SPRING.

  Season of sighs perfumed, and maiden flowers,
    Young Beauty’s birthday, cradled in delight
  And kept by muses in the blushing bowers
    Where snow-drops spring most delicately white! 
  Oh it is luxury to minds that feel
    Now to prove truants to the giddy world,
  Calmly to watch the dewy tints that steal
    O’er opening roses—­’till in smiles unfurled
  Their fresh-made petals silently unfold. 
    Or mark the springing grass—­or gaze upon
  Primeval morning till the hues of gold
    Blaze forth and centre in the glorious sun! 
  Whose gentler beams exhale the tears of night,
  And bid each grateful tongue deep melodies indite.

SUMMER.

  Now is thy fragrant garland made complete,
    Maturing year! but as its many dyes
  Mingle in rainbow hues divinely sweet,
    They fade and fleet in unobserved sighs! 
  Yet now all fresh and fair, how dear thou art,
    Just born to breathe and perish! touched by heaven,
  From lifeless Winter to a beating heart,
    From scathing blasts to Summer’s balmy even! 
  Methinks some angel from the bowers of bliss,
    In May descended, scattering blossoms round,
  Embraced each opening flower, bestowed a kiss,
    And woke the notes of harmony profound;
  But ere July had waned, alas, she fled,
  Took back to heaven the flowers, and left the falling leaves instead.

AUTUMN.

  Field flowers and breathing minstrelsy, farewell! 
    The rose is colourless and withering fast,
  Sweet Philomel her song forgets to swell,
    And Summer’s rich variety is past! 
  The sear leaves wander, and the hoar of age
    Gathers her trophy for the dying year,
  And following in her noiseless pilgrimage,
    Waters her couch with many a pearly tear. 
  Yet there is one unchanging friend who stays
    To cheer the passage into Winter’s gloom—­
  The redbreast chants his solitary lays,
    A simple requiem over Nature’s tomb,
  So, when the Spring of life shall end with me,
  God of my Fathers! may I find a changeless Friend in thee!

WINTER.

  The trees are leafless, and the hollow blast
    Sings a shrill anthem to the bitter gloom,
  The lately smiling pastures are a waste,
    While beauty generates in Nature’s womb;
  The frowning clouds are charged with fleecy snow,
    And storm and tempest bear a rival sway;
  Soft gurgling rivulets have ceased to flow,
    And beauty’s garlands wither in decay: 
  Yet look but heavenward! beautiful and young
    In life and lustre see the stars of night
  Untouch’d by time through ages roll along,
    And clear as when at first they burst to light. 
  And then look from the stars where heaven appears
  Clad in the fertile Spring of everlasting years!