The three following Sonnets are written in the character of Werter; the sentiments and images chiefly, but not _intirely_ taken from one of his letters.
Up this bleak Hill, in wintry Night's dread hour, With mind congenial to the scene, I come! To see my Valley in the lunar gloom, To see it _whelm'd_.--Amid the cloudy lour Gleams the cold Moon;--and shows the ruthless power Of yon swoln Floods, that white with turbid foam Roll o'er the fields;--and, billowy as they roam, Against the bushes beat!--A Vale no more, A troubled Sea, toss'd by the furious Wind!-- Alas! the wild and angry Waves efface Pathway, and hedge, and bank, and stile!--I find But one wide waste of waters!--In controul Thus dire, to tides of Misery and Disgrace Love opes the flood-gates of my struggling Soul.
Yon late but gleaming Moon, in hoary light Shines out unveil'd, and on the cloud's dark fleece Rests;--but her strengthen'd beams appear to increase The wild disorder of this troubled Night. Redoubling Echos seem yet more to excite The roaring Winds and Waters!--Ah! why cease Resolves, that promis'd everlasting peace, And drew my steps to this incumbent height? I wish!--I shudder!--stretch my longing arms O'er the steep cliff!--My swelling spirits brave The leap, that quiets all these dire alarms, And floats me tossing on the stormy wave! But Oh! what roots my feet?--what spells, what charms The daring purpose of my Soul enslave?
My hour is not yet come!--these burning eyes Have not yet look'd their _last_!--else, 'mid the roar Of this wild STORM, what gloomy joy to pour My freed, exhaling Soul!--sublime to rise, Rend the conflicting clouds, inflame the skies, And lash the torrents!--Bending to explore Our evening seat, my straining eye once more Roves the wide watry Waste;--but nought descries Save the pale Flood, o'erwhelming as it strays. Yet Oh! lest my remorseless Fate decree That all I love, with life's extinguish'd rays Sink from my soul, to soothe this agony, To balm that life, whose loss may forfeit thee, COME DEAR REMEMBRANCE OF DEPARTED DAYS!
On the fleet streams, the Sun, that late arose, In amber radiance plays;--the tall young grass No foot hath bruis'd;--clear Morning, as I pass, Breathes the pure gale, that on the blossom blows; And, as with gold yon green hill's summit glows, The lake inlays the vale with molten glass.-- Now is the Year's soft youth;--yet me, alas! Cheers not as it was wont;--impending woes _Weigh_ on my heart;--the joys, that once were mine, Spring leads not back;--and those that yet remain Fade while she blooms.--Each hour more lovely shine Her crystal beams, and feed her floral Train; But ah with pale, and waning fires, decline Those eyes, whose light my filial hopes sustain.