Charlotte Turner Smith, Sonnet I, Sonnet XLIV, Sonnet XLVII, Sonnet LVII, Sonnet LIX (1784-1797)

--I--

The partial Muse has from my earliest hours
Smiled on the rugged path I'm doom'd to tread,
And still with sportive hand has snatch'd wild flowers,
To weave fantastic garlands for my head:
But far, far happier is the lot of those
Who never learn'd her dear delusive art;
Which, while it decks the head with many a rose,
Reserves the thorn to fester in the heart.
For still she bids soft Pity's melting eye
Stream o'er the ills she knows not to remove,
Points every pang, and deepens every sigh
Of mourning Friendship, or unhappy Love.
Ah! then, how dear the Muse's favours cost,
If those paint sorrow best--who feel it most!*

------------------------------
* "The well-sung woes shall soothe my pensive ghost; / He best
can paint them who shall feel them most." Pope's "Eloisa to
Abelard," 366th line.

--XLIV--

Written in the church-yard
at Middleton in Sussex

Press'd by the Moon, mute arbitress of tides,
While the loud equinox its power combines,
The sea no more its swelling surge confines,
But o'er the shrinking land sublimely rides.
The wild blast, rising from the Western cave,
Drives the huge billows from their heaving bed;
Tears from their grassy tombs the village dead,*
And breaks the silent sabbath of the grave!
With shells and sea-weed mingled, on the shore
Lo! their bones whiten in the frequent wave;
But vain to them the winds and waters rave;
They hear the warring elements no more:
While I am doom'd--by life's long storm opprest,
To gaze with envy on their gloomy rest.

------------------------------
* Middleton is a village on the margin of the sea, in Sussex,
containing only two or three houses. There were formerly several
acres of ground between its small church and the sea, which now,
by its continual encroachments, approaches within a few feet of
this half-ruined and humble edifice. The wall, which once
surrounded the church-yard, is entirely swept away, many of the
graves broken up, and the remains of bodies interred washed into
the sea; whence human bones are found among the sand and shingles
on the shore.

--XLVII--

To Fancy

Thee, Queen of Shadows! -- shall I still invoke,
Still love the scenes thy sportive pencil drew,
When on mine eyes the early radiance broke
Which shew'd the beauteous rather than the true!
Alas! long since those glowing tints are dead,
And now 'tis thine in darkest hues to dress
The spot where pale Experience hangs her head
O'er the sad grave of murder'd Happiness!
Thro' thy false medium, then, no longer view'd,
May fancied pain and fancied pleasure fly,
And I, as from me all thy dreams depart,
Be to my wayward destiny subdued:
Nor seek perfection with a poet's eye,
Nor suffer anguish with a poet's heart!

--LVII--

To dependence

Dependence! heavy, heavy are thy chains,
And happier they who from the dangerous sea,
Or the dark mine, procure with ceaseless pains
An hard-earn'd pittance--than who trust to thee!
More blest the hind, who from his bed of flock
Starts--when the birds of morn their summons give,
And waken'd by the lark--"the shepherd's clock,"*
Lives but to labour--labouring but to live.
More noble than the sycophant, whose art
Must heap with taudry flowers thy hated shrine;
I envy not the meed thou canst impart
To crown his service--while, tho' Pride combine
With Fraud to crush me--my unfetter'd heart
Still to the Mountain Nymph* may offer mine.

-------------------------------
* Shakspeare.
* The mountain goddess, Liberty. Milton.

--LIX--

Written September 1791, during a remarkable thunder
storm, in which the moon was perfectly clear,
while the tempest gathered in various
directions near the earth

What awful pageants crowd the evening sky!
The low horizon gathering vapours shroud;
Sudden, from many a deep-embattled cloud
Terrific thunders burst, and lightenings fly --
While in serenest azure, beaming high,
Night's regent, of her calm pavilion proud,
Gilds the dark shadows that beneath her lie,
Unvex'd by all their conflicts fierce and loud.
-- So, in unsullied dignity elate,
A spirit conscious of superior worth,
In placid elevation firmly great,
Scorns the vain cares that give Contention birth;
And blest with peace above the shocks of Fate,
Smiles at the tumult of the troubled earth.