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88
SONNETS.
COMPOSED DURING ONE OF THE MOST AWFUL OF THE
LATE STORMS, FEB. 1819.
One who was suffering tumult in his soul
Yet fail'd to seek the sure relief of prayer—
Went forth—his course surrendering to the care
Of the fierce wind, while mid-day lightnings prowl
Insidiously—untimely thunders growl,—
While trees, dim-seen, in frenzied numbers tear
The lingering remnant of their yellow hair,—
And shivering wolves, surpris'd with darkness, howl
As if the sun were not;—he lifted high
His head—and in a moment did appear
Large space, mid dreadful clouds, of purest sky,
An azure orb—shield of Tranquillity,
Invisible unlook'd-for minister
Of providential goodness ever nigh!
THE END.
Printed by Strahan and Spottiswoode,
Printers-Street, London.
