SONNET.

NIGHT.

Now when dun Night her shadowy veil has spread,
  See want and infamy, as forth they come,
  Lead their wan daughter from her branded home,
To woo the stranger for unhallow’d bread. 
Poor outcast! o’er thy sickly-tinted cheek
  And half-clad form, what havoc want hath made;
  And the sweet lustre of thine eye doth fade,
And all thy soul’s sad sorrow seems to speak. 
O! miserable state! compell’d to wear
  The wooing smile, as on thy aching breast
  Some wretch reclines, who feeling ne’er possess’d;
Thy poor heart bursting with the stifled tear! 
Oh!  GOD OF MERCY! bid her woes subside,
And be to her a friend, who hath no friend beside.

CONSTANCY.

TO——.

Dearest love! when thy God shall recall thee,
  Be this record inscribed on thy tomb: 
Truth, and gratitude, well may applaud thee,
  And all thy past virtues relume.

It shall tell—­to thy sex’s proud honour,
  Of sufferings and trials severe,
While still, through protracted affliction,
  Not a murmur escaped; but the tear

Of resignment to Heaven’s high dictates,
  ’Twas thine, like a martyr, to shed: 
That heart—­all affection for others—­
  For thyself, uncomplainingly, bled.

Midst the storms, which misfortune had gather’d,
  What an angel thou wert unto me;
In that hour, when all friendship seem’d sever’d,
  Thou didst bloom like the ever-green tree!

All was gloom; and in vain had I striven,
  For hope ceased a ray to impart;
When thou cam’st, like a meteor from heaven,
  And gave peace to my desolate heart!

EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.

Give me the wreath of friendship true,
  Whose flowerets fade not in a breath: 
From memory gaining many a hue,
  To bloom beyond the touch of death.

And I will send it to thy home—­
  Thy home beloved, my faithful friend! 
And pray for its perpetual bloom
  And every bliss that earth can send.

Within its magic wreath I’d place
  Hearts’-ease and every lovely flower;
To win thee by their matchless grace,
  And cheer and bless the lonely hour.

When at the world’s unkind return
  Of all thy worth, and all thy care,
Thou may’st in spite of manhood turn,
  And shed the sad, the bitter, tear.

Then, midst this holy grief of thine,
  The thought of some true friend may bless,
And cheer the gloom like angel’s smile,
  Or sunbeam in a wilderness.

And could I hope I had a claim
  On thee in such a rapturous hour? 
Oh! that, indeed, I’d own were fame. 
  The saving ark of friendship’s power.

Or that, in future years, thy babes
  Should o’er this frail memorial bend,
(For first affection rarely fades!)
  And boast that I was once the friend