Charlotte Smith

EN o'er the copses spring's soft hues are spreading,
High wave the reeds in the transparent floods,
The oak its sear and sallow foliage shedding,
From their moss'd cradles start its infant buds.

From the Same.I LOVE thee, mournful, sober-suited Night!
When the faint moon, yet lingering in her wane,
And veil'd in clouds, with pale uncertain light
Hangs o'er the waters of the restless main.…

The dark and pillowy cloud, the sallow trees, Seem o'er the ruins of the year to mourn;
And, cold and hollow, the inconstant breeze Sobs thro' the falling leaves and wither'd fern. O'er the tall brow of yonder chalky bourn,
The evening…

AH! why will Mem'ry with officious care
The long lost visions of my days renew?
Why paint the vernal landscape green and fair,
When life's gay dawn was opening to my view?…

FROM THE NOVEL OF CELESTINA.Supposed to have been written in the Hebrides.
ON this lone island, whose unfruitful breast
Feeds but the summer-shepherd's little flock
With scanty herbage from the half-clothed rock,…

THEE! lucid arbiter 'twixt day and night,
The seaman greets, as on the ocean stream
Reflected, thy precursive friendly beam
Points out the long-sought haven to his sight.…

Huge vapours brood above the clifted shore, Night o'er the ocean settles, dark and mute, Save where is heard the repercussive roar Of drowsy billows, on the rugged foot Of rocks remote; or still more distant tone Of seamen, in the anchored bark,…

Scene, on the Cliffs to the Eastward of the Town
Brighthelmstone in Sussex.
Time, a Morning in November, 1792.
Slow in the Wintry Morn, the struggling

GO, rural Naiad! wind thy stream along
Through woods and wilds: then seek the ocean caves
Where sea-nymphs meet their coral rocks among,
To boast the various honours of their waves!…

The gorse is yellow on the heath,
The banks with speedwell flowers are gay,
The oaks are budding, and, beneath,
The hawthorn soon will bear the wreath,

EN of the silver bow!--by thy pale beam,
Alone and pensive,
I delight to stray,
And watch thy shadow trembling in the stream

THE upland shepherd, as reclined he lies
On the soft turf that clothes the mountain brow,
Marks the bright sea-line mingling with the skies;
Or from his course celestial, sinking slow,…

YE towers sublime, deserted now and drear,
Ye woods deep sighing to the hollow blast,
The musing wanderer loves to linger near,
While history points to all your glories past;…

FROM THE NOVEL OF CELESTINA.WHERE cliffs arise by winter crown'd,
And through dark groves of pine around,
Down the deep chasms the snow-fed torrents foam,
Within some hollow, shelter'd from the storms,…

BE the proud Thames of trade the busy mart!
Arun! to thee will other praise belong;
Dear to the lover's and the mourner's heart,
And ever sacred to the sons of song!…

Supposed to have been written in America.ILL-omen'd bird! whose cries portentous float
O'er yon savannah with the mournful wind;
While, as the Indian hears your piercing note,
Dark dread of future evil fills his mind;…

THOU! whose name too often is profaned;
Whose charms celestial, few have hearts to feel;
Unknown to Folly--and by Pride disdain'd!
--To thy soft solace may my sorrows steal!…

On a Stone, in the Church-Yard at Boreham,
Essex; raised by the Honourable Elizabeth Olmius,
to the memory of Ann Gardner, who died at
Hall, after a faithful Service of Forty Years.

LIKE a poor ghost the night I seek;
ts hollow winds repeat my sighs;
The cold dews mingle on my cheek
With tears that wander from mine eyes.The thorns that still my couch molest,…

Poor melancholy bird—-that all night long Tell'st to the Moon, thy tale of tender woe;
From what sad cause can such sweet sorrow flow,
And whence this mournful melody of song?
Thy poet's musing fancy would translate What mean the…

O'er faded heath-flowers spun, or thorny furze, The filmy Gossamer is lightly spread;
Waving in every sighing air that stirs, As Fairy fingers had entwined the thread:
A thousand trembling orbs of lucid dew Spangle the texture of the…

BORNE on the warm wing of the western gale,
How tremulously low is heard to float,
Thro' the green budding thorns that fringe the vale,
The early Nightingale's prelusive note.…

Descriptive of the miseries of War; from a Poemcalled "The Emigrants," printed in 1793.
TO a wild mountain, whose bare summit
Its broken eminence in clouds; whose steeps Are dark with woods: where the receding
Are worn…

Is there a solitary wretch who hies
To the tall cliff, with starting pace or slow,
And, measuring, views with wild and hollow eyes
Its distance from the waves that chide below;…