Sonnet XVII.

A poem by Anna Seward

Ah! why have I indulg'd my dazzled sight
With scenes in Hope's delusive mirror shown?
Scenes, that too seldom human Life has known
In kind accomplishment; - but O! how bright
The rays, that gilded them with varied light
Alternate! oft swift flashing on the boon
That might at FAME's immortal shrine be won;
Then shining soft on tender LOVE's delight. -
Now, with stern hand, FATE draws the sable veil
O'er the frail glass! - HOPE, as she turns away,
The darken'd crystal drops. - - Heavy and pale,
Rain-pouring clouds quench all the darts of day;
Low mourns the wind along the gloomy dale,
And tolls the Death-bell in the pausing gale.

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