SONNET.
I am unskill'd in speech: my tongue is slow
The graceful courtesies of life to pay;
To deck kind meanings up in trim array,
Keeping the mind's soft tone: words such as flow
From Complaisance, when she alone inspires!
And Caution, with a care that never tires,
Marshals each tribe of thoughts in such a way
That all are ready for their needful task,
The moment the occasion comes to ask,
All prompt to hear, to answer and obey;
When mine, undisciplin'd, their cause betray,
By coward falterings, or rebellious zeal!--
And Art, though subtle, though sublime thy sway,
I doubt if thou canst rule us, when we feel!
X.
ALL' AMICA.
And didst thou think that worldly art
Would mould anew this shrinking heart?
No! as a bird, by storms opprest,
Is sheltered in its silent nest,
I nurse and soothe it in the strife,
Screen from the bleakest airs of life,
And bring it all that once you knew,
As kind, as timid, and as true!
But how could I so foolish be,
As not to feel a doubt of thee?--
This joy to find me still the same
Takes from my lip the power to blame;
Else, but forgive me, else I find
A mist has stolen o'er thy mind,
And veil'd my prospect; dimm'd that light
Which once was warm, and clear, and bright.
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