Los inicios del Siglo XVIII no fueron auspiciosos para el soneto inglés debido a que, una vez concluida la Restauración, la preferencia por esta estructura poética decayó notablemente.
Los escritores de esta época prefirieron abocarse más a la prosa (novela, ensayo, dramaturgia, etc.) y, si bien hubo poetas que utilizaron el soneto, esto no fue suficiente para revivir la antigua pasión que generaba. Y tuvo que pasar mucho tiempo para que ello volviera a suceder.
THOMAS GRAY
(1716—1771)
Sonnet on the Death of Mr. Richard West_1742
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In vain to me the smiling Mornings shine,
And reddening Phoebus lifts his golden fire;
The birds in vain their amorous descant join;
Or cheerful fields resume their green attire;
These ears, alas! For other notes repine,
A different object do these eyes require;
My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine;
And in my breast the imperfect joys expire.
Yet Morning smiles the busy race to cheer,
And new-born pleasure brings to happier men;
The fields to all their wonted tribute bear;
To warm their little loves the birds complain;
I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear,
And weep the more because I weep in vain.
MARY MONK
(1677—1715)
Poems by Eminent Ladies_1755
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SONETTO [FROM PETRARCH]
(1716)
Thoughtful, alone, through desert Wastes I stray
Slow lingering steps pace out the measur’d way.
With jealous fear around my eyes I cast
To shun the paths by human footsteps trac’d.
Vain are all other coverts to conceal
From sight of Men the torments that I feel:
A lifeless figure, and a joyless mien
Disclose the fire that smother’d burns within.
The rocky hills, and streams that silent flow
The groves and dales are conscious of my woe,
And only they the fatal secret know.
But to howe’er remote a part I rove,
Or pathless waste, or hill, or dale or grove,
I’m still pursued by my companion, Love.
THOMAS EDWARS
(1699—1759)
The Canons of Criticism, and Glossary; The Trial of the Letter ϒ, alias Y, and Sonnets_1758
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SONNET XXXVI
"With prudence choose a wife"—Be thy first care
Her Virtue, not confin'd to time or place,
Or worn for shew; but on Religion's base
Well-founded, easy, free, and debonair:
Next rose-cheek'd Modesty, beyond compare
The best cosmetic of the Virgin's face;
Neatness, which doubles every female grace;
And Temper mild, thy joys and griefs to share;
Beauty in true proportion rather choose
Than colour, fit to grace thy social board,
Chear thy chaste bed, and honest offspring rear;
With these seek Prudence well to guide thy house,
Untainted Birth, and, if thy state afford,
Do not, when such the prize, for Fortune square.
SAMUEL WHYTE
(1733—1811)
A Collection of Poems on Various Subjects_1792
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TO MISS PLUMMER
(1771)
Plummer! Whose growing beauties every hour,
Transcend the promise of thy early days,
Mark, with attentive eye, yon opening flower,
Nor flight the simple lesson it conveys:
Bright to the fun it spreads its vivid hues,
And wide around its living fragrance throws;
Scarce thy own lips a sweeter breath effuse,
Scarce thy own cheek with purer crimson glows.
Anon, sad emblem! Mark this child of May,
The rude east nips it, or the worms devour;
Borne by the blast, or scatter'd by the shower.
Its odours languish, and its tints decay:
Hence learn, dear maid! That beauty's but a flower;
The gay, brief triumph of the passing hour.
ON READING MRS. DOBSON'S LIFE OF PETRARCH
Cease then, illiberal, vain, short-sighted tribe!
Cease to depreciate and degrade the fair;
Know ye, when wisdom's lore you there prescribe,
What bootless sefl-delusion marks your care?
On Mersey's laurel'd banks, abash'd you'll find
That worth you envy and affect to scorn,
Imbuing Laura's unrelated mind,
Pure as the dewy spangles of the morn.
Away! Your social feelings all debas'd,
You scan their beauties with a juandic'd eye,
By culture deck'd, and elegance of taste—
On leaves of brass your penitence enrol,
Nor quit, to wallow in a sensual stye,
"The feast of reason and the slow of soul."
JOHN BALL
(C. 1746—1812)
Odes, Elegies, Ballads, Pictures, Inscriptions, Sonnets_1772
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IMITATED FROM PASTOR FIDO
O Spring, the Parent of gay smiling Hours!
All Nature owns with Joy thy genial Reign
Thou can'st relume the little Lives of Flow'rs,
And bring their aromatic Souls again!
In this Profusion of refreshing Show'rs
That glade alike, the Shepherd, and the Plain,
Why am I banish'd from thy blissful Bow'rs?
Why am I only, doom'd to suffer Pain?
I little thought, when I was of thy Train,
Where Bonnibelss sport with their Paramours,
Little I dreamt, how Love was light of Wing!
How Friendship smil'd—too sweetly to remain!
I little guest, what a sad Evening lours
Upon thy brightest Day, O genial Spring!
TO THE EARL OF MOIRA
Moira! The Muse's Judge, and Censor just,
Belov'd thro' Life, immortal in her Strain!
Sprung form a Race, who ne'er betray'd their Trust,
Ne'er mingled with the venal, or the vain!
See, Lycon comes to court your Smile again!
Sweet Lycon, still to gen'rous Thoughts ally'd!
He shone not then with such becoming Pride,
When Lacy sung his Praise in Charles's Reign,
As now he wishes, to adorn thy Train;
And well I know, thine Ear will learn the Lays;
tho' thou art Master of courtly Stile,
yet can'st thou ne'er the rural Reed disdain!
Thou too shalt Lycon love, and teach his Praise
To ev'ry Shepherd of Ierne's Isle!
REV. JOHN LANGHORNE
(1735—1779)
Milton's Italian Poems, Translated and Addressed to a Gentleman of Italy_1776
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SONNET III
Charles, must I say what strange it seems to say,
This rebel Heart, which Love hath held as naught,
Or, haply, in his cunning mazes caught,
Would laugh, and let his captive steal away;
This simple Heart hath now become his prey:
Yet hath no golden tress this Lesson taught,
Nor vermeil cheek that shames the rising Day:
O no! –Twas Beauty’s most celestial ray.
With charms divine of sovereign sweetness fraught,
The noble mien, the soul-dissolving air,
The bright arch bendind o’er the lucid eye,
The Voice, that breathing Melody so rare
Might lead the toil’d Moon from the middle sky.
Small chance had I to hope this simple Heart should fly.
SONNET I
O Lady fair, whose honor’d Name is borne
By that soft Vale where Rhine so loves to stray
And sees the tall Arch crown his watry Way!
Sure happy he, though much the Muse’s scorn,
Too dull to die beneath thy Beauty’s ray,
Who never felt that Spirit’s charmed sway
Which gentle Acts and gentle Deeds adorn:
Thou in those Smiles are all Love’s arrows worn;
Each radiant Virtue though those Deeds display!
Sure happy he who that sweet Voice should hear
Mould the soft Speech or swell the tuneful Strain,
And conscious that his humble Vows were vain
Shut fond attention from his closed ear
Ere Love should in his Heart fix the inveterate pain.
REV. JOHN COLLINS
(1742—1808)
A Letter to George Hardinge, Esq._1777
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SONNET TO MR. CAPELL
Capell, that Spirit of Heaven istaught, whose Care
Supplies the Wishes of the virtuous Dead,
The untimely parted; who, with pious aid
Frees the sad Ghost from wandering in Despair!
Thus taught, thus minded, did thy Zeal repair
That wonderous Pile that Shakespeare’s Magic reard’d
By daring Impudence with Filth besmear’d
And Folly’s daubing, foul, though seeming fair.
Great was thy Toil! Be thinewell earn’d the’ acclaim
And Praise of all who make the Muse their care.
Friend, Guardian, just and faithful, shall thy Name
With thine own Bard, that brightest Heir of Fame,
In sacred Union live! —What Praise more dear
What Meed more glorious, can thy Labours claim!
THOMAS WARTON
(1728—1790)
Sonnets_1777
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SONNET IX
Ah! What a weary race my feet have run,
Since first I trod thy banks with alders crown'd,
And thought my way was all through fairy ground,
Beneath thy azure sky, and golden sun:
Where first my muse to lisp her notes begun!
Where pensive memory traces back the round,
Which fills the varied interval between;
Much pleasure, more of sorrow, marks the scene.
Sweet native stream! Those skies and suns so pure
No more return, to chear my evening road!
Yet still one joy remains, that not obscure,
Nor useless, all my vacant days have flow'd,
From youth's gay dawn to manhood's prime mature;
Nor with the Muse's laurel unbestow'd.
SONNET VII
While summer-suns o'er the gay prospect play'd,
Through Surry's verdant scenes, where Epsom spreads
Mid intermingling elms her flowery meads,
And Hascombe's hill, in towering groves array'd,
Rear'd its romantic steep, with mind serene
I journied blythe. Full pensive I return'd;
For now my breast with hopeless passion burn'd,
Wet with hoar mists appear'd the glittering scene
Which late in careless indolence I past;
And Autumn all around those hues had cast
Where past delight my recent grief might trace.
Sad change, that Nature a cogenial gloom
Should wear, when most, my chearless mood to chase,
I wish'd her green attire, and wonted bloom!
JOHN NOTT
(1751—1825)
Sonnets and Odes of Petrarch_1777
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SONNET
Ye vales, made vocal by my plaintive lay!
Ye streams, embitter'd with the tears of love!
Ye tenants of the sweet, melodious grove!
Ye tribes, that in the grass-fring'd streamlet play!
Ye tepid gales, to which my sighs convey
A softer warmth!—Ye flow'ry plains, that move
Reflection sad!—Ye hills, where yet I rove!
Since Laura there first taught my steps to stray.
Ye all your native bloom and mirth retain!
While I, a prey to slow-consuming pain,
No wonted youth, no former pleasures share.
Oft from yon elm-clad height these eyes survey
The spot where, seeking the bright realms of day,
Laura's fair spirit left a frame so fair!
SONNET XX
Soon as gay morn ascends her purple car;
The plaintive warbling of the new-wak'd grove,
The murm'ring streams, thro' flow'ry meads that rove,
Fill with sweet melody the vallies fair.
Aurora, fam'd for constancy in love,
Whose face with snow, whose locks with gold compare,
Smoothing her aged husband's silv'ry hair,
Bids me the joys of rural music prove.
Then waking, I salute the sun of day;
But chief that beauteous sun, whose cheering ray
Once gilt, nay gilds e'en now, life's scene so bright.
Dear suns! Which oft I've seen together rise;
This dims each meaner luster of the skies,
And that sweet sun I love dims ev'ry light.
JOHN CODRINGTON BAMPFYLDE
(1754—1796)
Sixteen Sonnets_1778
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SONNET XIV
What numerous votaries 'neath thy shadowy wing,
O mild and modest Evening, find delight!
First to the Grove, his lingering Fair to bring,
The warm and youthful Lover, hating light,
Sighs oft for thee.—And next the boisterous string
Of school-imps freed from Dame's all-dreaded sight,
Round Village-Cross, in many a wanton ring,
Wishes thy stay.—Then too with vasty might,
From Steeple's side to urge the bounding ball,
The lusty hinds await thy fragrant call.
I, friend to all by turns, am join'd with all.
Lover, and Elfin gay, and harmless hind;
Nor heed the proud, to real wisdom blind,
So as my heart be pure, and free my mind.
ANNA SEWARD
(1747—1809)
Original Sonnets on Various Subjects; and Odes Paraphrased from Horace_1779
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SONNET LXXXVII
Round Cleon's brow the Delphic laurels twine,
And lo! The laurel decks Amanda's breast!
Charm'd shall he mark its glossy branches shine
On that contrasting snow; shall see express'd
Love's better omens, in the green hues dress'd
Of this selected foliage.—Nymph, 't is thine
The warning story on its leaves to find,
Proud Daphne's fate, imprison'd in its rind,
And with its umbrage veil'd, great Phœbus' power
Scorning, and bent, with feet of wind, to foil
His swift pursuit, till on Thessalian shore
Shot into boughs, and rooted to the soil.—
Thus warn'd, fair Maid, Apollo's ire to shun,
Soon may his Spray's and Votary's lot be one.
SONNET LXXXVI
Pride of Ierne's Sea-encircled bound,
Rival of all Britannia's Naiads boast,
Magnificent Killarney!—From thy coast
Tho' mountains rise with noblest woods embrown'd;
Tho' ten-voiced Echos send the cannon's sound
In thunders bursting the vast rocks around,
Till startled Wonder and Delight exhaust
In countless repercussion—Isles embost
Upon thy liquid glass; their bloomy veil
Sorbus and ārbutus;—Yet not for thee
So keenly wakes our local ecstacy,
As o'er the narrow, barren, silent Dale,
Where deeply sleeps, rude circling Rocks among,
The Love-devoted Fount enamour'd Petrarch sung.
SONNET XXXI
O, Ever Dear! Thy precious, vital powers
Sink rapidly!—The long and dreary Night
Brings scarce an hope that Morn's returning light
Shall dawn for Thee!—In such terrific hours,
When yearning Fondness eagerly devours
Each moment of protracted life, his flight
The Rashly-Chosen of thy heart has ta'en
Where dances, songs, and theatres invite.
Expiring Sweetness! With indignant pain
I see him in the scenes where laughing glide
Pleasure's light Forms;—See his eyes gaily glow,
Regardless of thy life's fast ebbing tide;
I hear him, who shou'd droop in silent woe,
Declaim on Actors, and on Taste decide!
SONNET XXVII
See wither'd Winter, bending low his head;
His ragged locks stiff with the hoary dew;
His eyes, like frozen lakes, of livid hue;
His train, a sable cloud, with murky red
Streak'd.—Ah! Behold his nitrous breathings shed
Petrific death!—Lean, wailful Birds pursue,
On as he sweeps o'er the dun lonely moor,
Amid the battling blast of all the Winds,
That, while their sleet the climbing Sailor blinds,
Lash the white surges to the sounding shore.
So com'st thou, Winter, finally to doom
The sinking year; and with thy ice-dropt sprays,
Cypress and yew, engarland her pale tomb,
Her vanish'd hopes, and aye-departed days.
SONNET XIII
Thou child of Night, and Silence, balmy Sleep,
Shed thy soft poppies on my aching brow!
And charm to rest the thoughts of whence, or how
Vanish'd that priz'd Affection, wont to keep
Each grief of mine from rankling into woe.
Then stern Misfortune from her bended bow
Loos'd the dire strings;—And Care, and anxious Dread
From my cheer'd heart, on sullen pinion, fled.
But now, the spell dissolv'd, th' Enchantress gone,
Ceaseless those cruel Fiends infest my day,
And sunny hours but light them to their prey.
Then welcome Midnight shades, when thy wish'd boon
May in oblivious dews my eye-lids steep,
Thou Child of Night, and Silence, balmy Sleep!
EDMUND CARTWRIGHT
(1743—1823)
The Prince of Peace, and Other Poems_1779
Armine and Elvira. A Legendary Tale, with Other Poems [Ninth Edition]_1803]
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WRITTEN UNDER A STATUE OF HYMEN
[1779]
No suppliant votary at thy modest shrine
For promis'd bliss delay'd assails thine ear;
Grateful I own thy choices gifts are mine,
Thy gifts, increasing still thro' many a year!
Peace, Health, and Ease, and unreprov'd Delight,
And calm Contentement, form thy gentle train;
Love waves his light winds, joyous at the sight,
Proud to partake with thee thy easy reign.
Fanning thy golden torch, he smiles to see
His fairest promises fulfil'd by thee!
Still may that golden torch diffuse its light!
By Love's soft pinions fan'd, still glow more bright!
Thro' latest years extend its cheering ray,
And gild the gathering gloom of Life's expiring day!
TO MISS CUST
With trembling hope the Muse's hand essays
To deck with fairest flowers Constantia's grave;
Her plaintive voice, solicitous to save,
With fond, tho' vain attempt, her charms displays;
Tho' vain th' attempt, tho' fruitless be the lays,
Not unrewarded is the Muse's toil;
With pride she boasts a Cust's approving smile,
With pride she boasts that you have deign'd to praise!
Can you then pardon with presumptuous aim
If thus she strive her honours to prolong?
Her envied lot ambitious to proclaim,
If thus she venture to inscribe your name?
Your living charms bear witness to the song—
Your smile approv'd it, and that smile is fame.
SONNET
O lov’d in Life with passion’s fond excess!
With equal passion mourn’d in Death’s embrace!
How oft thy dear idea do I trace
Thro’ all the trying scenes of past distress!
Still to my lips thy clay-cold hand I press;
Still listening hear thy last expiring breath;
Still mark thy closing eye, that spoke in death;
Then sink, subdued with grief that mocks redress!
And yet, dear shade, ah why should I complain
That thus thy dying image I retain?
Since, to each idle joy the heart can know,
I still prefer this luxury of woe;
Nor yet thy dear idea wou’d resign,
To feast on living charms, and call the fairest mine.
WILLIAM HAYLEY
(1745—1820)
The Triumphs of Temper_1781
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Go, faithful sonnet, to Serena say
What charms peculiar in her features reign:
A stranger, whom her glance may ne’er survey,
Pays her this tribute in no flattering strain.
Tell her, the bard, in beauty’s wide domain,
Has seen a virgin cheek as richly glow,
A bosom, where the blue meand’ring vein
Sheds as soft lustre through the lucid snow,
Eyes, that as brightly flash with joy and youth,
And locks, that like her own luxuriant flow:
Then say, for then she cannot doubt thy truth,
That the wide Earth on female form can show
Where Nature’s legend so distinctly tells,
In this fair shrine a fairer spirit dwells.
CHARLOTTE TURNER SMITH
(1749—1806)
Elegiac Sonnets_1784
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SONNET XLIX
O thou! Who sleep'st where hazle-bands entwine
The vernal grass, with paler violets drest;
I would, sweet maid! Thy humble bed were mine,
And mine thy calm and enviable rest.
For never more by human ills opprest
Shall thy soft spirit fruitlessly repine:
Thou canst not now thy fondest hopes resign
Even in the hour that should have made thee blest.
Light lies the turf upon thy virgin breast;
And lingering here, to love and sorrow true,
The youth who once thy simple heart possest
Shall mingle tears with April's early dew;
While still for him shall faithful Memory save
Thy form and virtues from the silent grave.
SONNET LI
On this lone island, whose unfruitful breast
Feeds but the summer-shepherd's little flock
With scanty herbage from the half-clothed rock,
Where osprays, cormorants, and sea-mews rest;
Even in a scene so desolate and rude
I could with thee for months and years be blest;
And of thy tenderness and love possest,
Find all my world in this wild solitude!
When Summer suns these Northern seas illume,
With thee admire the light's reflected charms,
And when drear Winter spreads his cheerless gloom,
Still find Elysium in thy shelt'ring arms:
For thou to me canst sovereign bliss impart,
Thy mind my empire—And my throne thy heart.
SONNET XLIII
The unhappy exile, whom his fates confine
To the bleak coast of some unfriendly isle,
Cold, barren, desert, where no harvests smile,
But thirst and hunger on the rocks repine;
When, from some promontory's fearful brow,
Sun after sun he hopeless sees decline
In the broad shipless sea—Perhaps may know
Such heartless pain, such blank despair as mine;
And, if a flattering cloud appears to show
The fancied semblance of a distant sail,
Then melts away—Anew his spirits fail,
While the lost hope but aggravates his woe!
Ah! so for me delusive fancy toils,
Then, from contrasted truth—My feeble soul recoils.
SONNET XLI
In this tumultuous sphere, for thee unfit,
How seldom art thou found—Tranquillity!
Unless 'tis when with mild and downcast eye
By the low cradles thou delight'st to sit
Of sleeping infants—Watching the soft breath,
And bidding the sweet slumberers easy lie;
Or sometimes hanging o'er the bed of death,
Where the poor languid sufferer—Hopes to die.
Oh, beauteous sister of the halcyon peace!
I sure shall find thee in that heavenly scene
Where care and anguish shall their power resign;
Where hope alike, and vain regret shall cease,
And memory—Lost in happiness serene,
Repeat no more—That misery has been mine!
SIR SAMUEL EGERTON BRYDGES
(1762—1837)
Sonnets and other Poems_1785
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SONNET XV
Ye scenes, my melancholy soul that fill,
Where Nature's voice no crowds tumultuous drown,
And, but thro' breaks of trees, the lawn that crown,
The paths of men are seen; and farther still,
Scarce peeps the city-spire o'er many an hill!
Your green retreats, lone walks, and shadows brown,
While sheep feed round beneath the branches' frown,
Shall calm my mind, and holy thoughts instill.
What tho' with passion oft my trembling frame
Each real, and each fancied wrong enflame,
Wand'ring alone I here my thoughts reclaim:
Resentment sinks, Disgust within me dies;
And Charity, and meek Forgiveness rise,
And melt my soul, and overflow mine eyes.
THOMAS WARWICK O WARRICK
(C. 1755—C. 1786)
Abelard to Eloisa: An Epistle. To which are Prefixed, Sonnets. With a Rhapsody written at Stratford-upon-Avon_1783
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SONNET XI
The winding grace of Avon's faery tide,
Her cliffs abrupt, and meads of lively green,
Her villas glittering from the mountain side,
And tufted bowers, and garden slopes between;
Nor these, nor yon gay domes, with rapture eyed,
When health and pleasure crown'd the careless scene,
Can gild this bosom's dark and dreary void,
While sickness dims Amanda's alter'd mien:
Yet flatters hope, or from that halcyon brow,
Where shines the soul superior, and serene,
The scatter'd shades of pain and languor fly;
Else o'er those eyes the veil of fancy throw,
The form of anguish for a while to screen,
And cheat the friend with visionary joy.
SONNET XIV
From heaven's pure arch may radiant Hesper smile!
Light o'er the deck let orient breezes play,
That owes Eliza to her native isle
By duty call'd from weeping friends away!
Mean time reflection shall her hours beguile,
And conscious hope anticipate the day,
When manly fondness shall her love repay,
Endear'd by dangers past and present toil.
Yet may not all her wishes onward fly,
But fondly trace with oft-reverted eye
Where British shores the northern billows spurn—
And think while smoothly o'er the deep she glides,
The hour advances as the wave divides,
When friendship's voice shall hail her blest return.
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
(1772—1834)
The Poetical Works of S. T. Coleridge (Three Volumes)_1834
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TO THE AUTUMNAL MOON
Mild Splendour of the various-vested Night!
Mother of wildly-working visions! Hail!
I watch thy gliding, while with watery light
Thy weak eye glimmers through a fleecy veil;
And when thou lovest thy pale orb to shroud
Behind the gather'd blackness lost on high;
And when thou dartest from the wind-rent cloud
Thy placid lightning o'er the awaken'd sky.
Ah such is Hope! As changeful and as fair!
Now dimly peering on the wistful sight;
Now hid behind the dragon-wing'd Despair:
But soon emerging in her radiant might
She o'er the sorrow-clouded breast of Care
Sails, like a meteor kindling in its flight.
MRS. SIDDONS
As when a child on some long Winter's night
Affrighted clinging to its Grandam's knees
With eager wond'ring and perturb'd delight
Listens strange tales of fearful dark decrees
Muttered to wretch by necromantic spell;
Or of those hags, who at the witching time
Of murky Midnight ride the air sublime,
And mingle foul embrace with fiends of Hell:
Cold Horror drinks its blood! Anon the tear
More gentle starts, to hear the Beldame tell
Of pretty Babes, that lov'd each other dear.
Murder'd by cruel Uncle's mandate fell:
Even such the shiv'ring joys thy tones impart,
Even so thou, Siddons! Meltest my sad heart!
TO THE RIVER OTTER
Dear native Brook! Wild Streamlet of the West!
How many various-fated years have past,
What happy and what mournful hours, since last
I skimm'd the smooth thin stone along thy breast,
Numbering its light leaps! Yet so deep imprest
Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes
I never shut amid the sunny ray,
But straight with all their tints thy waters rise,
Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows grey,
And bedded sand that vein'd with various dyes
Gleam'd through thy bright transparence! On my way,
Visions of Childhood! Oft have ye beguil'd
Lone manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs:
Ah! That once more I were a careless Child!
TO SIMPLICITY
O! I do love thee, meek Simplicity!
For of thy lays the lulling simpleness
Goes to my heart and soothes each small distress,
Distress though small, yet haply great to me!
'Tis true on Lady Fortune's gentlest pad
I amble on; yet, though I know not why,
So sad I am!—But should a friend and I
Grow cool and miff, O! I am very sad!
And then with sonnets and with sympathy
My dreamy bosom's mystic woes I pall;
Now of my false friend plaining plaintively,
Now raving at mankind in general;
But, whether sad or fierce, 'tis simple all,
All very simple, meek Simplicity!
ON A RUINED HOUSE IN A ROMANTIC COUNTRY
And this reft house is that the which he built,
Lamented Jack! And here his malt he pil'd,
Cautious in vain! These rats that squeak so wild,
Squeak, not unconscious of their father's guilt.
Did ye not see her gleaming thro' the glade?
Belike, 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn.
What though she milk no cow with crumpled horn,
Yet aye she haunts the dale where erst she stray'd;
And aye beside her stalks her amorous knight!
Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn,
And thro' those brogues, still tatter'd and betorn,
His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white;
As when thro' broken clouds at night's high noon
Peeps in fair fragments forth the full-orb'd harvest-moon!
ALEXANDER FRASER TYTLER, LORD WOODHOUSELEE
(1747—1813)
Essay on the Life and Character of Petrarch, with Translation of Seven Sonnets_1784
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SONNET 251
("Quand' io veggio dal ciel scender l'Aurora")
When from the East appears the purple ray
Of morn arising, and salutes the eyes
That wear the night in watching for the day,
Thus speaks my heart: In yonder opening skies,
In yonder fields of bliss, my Laura lies.
Thou sun that know'st to wheel thy burning car,
Each even to still surface of the deep,
And there within thy Thetis' bosom sleep;
Oh! Could I thus my Laura's presence share,
How would my patient heart her sorrows bear!
Ador'd in life, and honour'd in the dust,
She that in this fond breast for ever reigns,
Has pass'd the gulph of death!—To deck that bust
No trace of her, but the sad Name, remains.
THOMAS RUSSELL
(1762—1788)
Sonnets and Miscellaneous Poems_1789
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SONNET XX
Too beauteous Rival, whose enticing charms
Once to my heart's sole Darling seem'd so fair,
That oft he praises still thy ivory arms,
Thy ruby lips, blue eyes, and auburn hair;
Say, when he heard thy tongue's seducing strain,
Stood he e'er silent, or with scorn replied,
Or turn'd with alter'd brow of cold disdain
From thy soft smiles, as now from mine, aside?
Once, once, too well I know, he held thee dear,
And then, when captive to thy sovereign will—
But why that look abash'd, that starting tear,
Those conscious blushes which my fears fulfil?
Speak, answer, speak; nay answer not, forbear,
If thou must answer, that he loves thee still
SONNET VII
Sick with the pangs, that prompt the Lover's moan,
Long tender Tasso pin'd, but pin'd in vain:
Despair at length and Frenzy fir'd his brain;
In silence oft he sat, and wept alone,
Oft rav'd aloud, and taught wild woods to groan;
Oft too in songs, if songs might ease his pain,
He pour'd his soul, changing the Trumpet's strain
For rural Reeds, and the Lute's amorous tone:
I, who like him whole years with tortur'd heart
Have woo'd, and vainly woo'd, as fair a Dame,
Feel thro' my boiling veins like madness dart;
So could I learn, like him, the lay to frame,
If She, if haply She, who caus'd my smart,
Might deign to listen, and relieve my pain!
WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES
(1762—1850)
Fourteen Sonnets_1789
Sonnets and Other Poems_1791
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SONNET XXX
I turn these leaves with thronging thoughts, and say,
Alas! How many friends of youth are dead;
How many visions of fair hope have fled,
Since first, my Muse, we met.—So speeds away
Life, and its shadows; yet we sit and sing,
Stretched in the noontide bower, as if the day
Declined not, and we yet might trill our lay
Beneath the pleasant morning's purple wing
That fans us; while aloft the gay clouds shine!
Oh, ere the coming of the long cold night,
Religion, may we bless thy purer light,
That still shall warm us, when the tints decline
O'er earth's dim hemisphere; and sad we gaze
On the vain visions of our passing days!
SONNET XXVII
I never hear the sound of thy glad bells,
Oxford, and chime harmonious, but I say,
Sighing to think how time has worn away,
Some spirit speaks in the sweet tone that swells,
Heard after years of absence, from the vale
Where Cherwell winds. Most true it speaks the tale
Of days departed, and its voice recalls
Hours of delight and hope in the gay tide
Of life, and many friends now scattered wide
By many fates. Peace be within thy walls!
I have scarce heart to visit thee; but yet,
Denied the joys sought in thy shades,—Denied
Each better hope, since my poor Harriet died,
What I have owed to thee, my heart can ne'er forget!
MARY DARBY ROBINSON
(1758—1800)
Poems_1791
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I could have borne affliction's sharpest thorn;
The sting of malice—Poverty's deep wound;
The sneers of vulgar pride, the idiot's scorn;
Neglected Love, false Friendship's treach'rous sound;
I could, with patient smile, extract the dart
Base calumny had planted in my heart;
The fangs of envy; agonizing pain;
All, all, nor should my steady soul complain:
E'en had relentless Fate, with cruel pow'r,
Darken'd the sunshine of each youthful day;
While from my path she snatch'd each transient flow'r.
Not one soft sigh my sorrow should betray;
But where Ingratitude’s fell poisons pour,
Hope shrinks subdued—And Life's Best Joys Decay.
Ah! Lust'rous Gem, bright emblem of the Heart,
That nobly scorns a borrow'd ray to share,
Whose gentle pow'r can break the spells of care,
And sooth, with lenient balm, the keenest smart.
Whether from holy Friendship's vow profan'd,
Or the dire frenzy of unpitied Love;
Whether from cherish'd passion unrestrain'd,
Or the worst pang the jealous mind can prove.
Yet, if sad mem'ry ling'ring o'er past woe,
Calls Thee, soft trembler, from thy crystal throne,
And sternly bids thy pearly incence flow,
E'en when the treach'rous phantom, Hope, is flown;
How fickle are the gifts thy rays impart,
At once the Balm and Poison of the Heart.
JOHN ARMSTRONG (a) ALBERT
(1771—1797)
Sonnets from Shakespeare_1791
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SONNET II
Ah! Who is she, who dazzles thus the sight,
And bids the glimm'ring torches burn more clear;
Whose beauty hangs upon the cheek of night,
Like a rich jewel in a Ethiop's ear?
But, ah! Her beauty seems for earth too dear,
So much her charms all other charms outshine;
And, ah! Too rich for use—how much I fear,
A nymph so bright, so fair, can ne'er be mine!
Yet will I duly watch her place of stand,
Sure, Love before this night I never knew,
And with her touch make happy my rude hand,
For ne'er such beauty bless'd my wondering view:
All charms I now resign—that once were dear,
And henceforth vow my sole devotion's here.
SONNET XV
Bid me forget the object of my love—
Couldst thou but teach me to forget, I'm blest;
Ah! Then once more this tortur'd heart might prove
Its too long lost, and now unhop'd for rest!
But while my bosom feels a lover's pain,
While the dear fatal image haunts my view,
How shall I cease of anguish to complain,
Or how forget the source from which it grew?
Bid me my love with other nymphs compare,
And thus forget—the remedy were vain,
For while they shew me how much more she's fair,
'Twould but increase my passion and my pain:
Ah! No—in death alone I'll cease to prove
The curse of memory, and the pangs of love!
REV. HENRY KETT
(1761—1825)
Juvenile Poems_1793
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SONNET III
Thou hoary traveller! Slow passing by
The wretch, who counts each moment of his woes,
Till liberty his prison-gate unclose;
As the dull snail, whose motion mocks the eye,
Full oft thy tardy journeyings betray
The spoiler; yon moss-mantled tower,
Whose head sublime derided once thy power,
Now silent crumbling sinks beneath thy sway.
The sapling, thy tall streamer, waves on high,
Whilst thy deep wounds each mazy fissure shows,
Like wrinkles, furrowing deep thy own grey brows:
Yet not for this rude triumph swells my sigh,
But that thy hand will wither beauty's rose,
And dim the fire, that lights the sparkling eye.
SONNET XII
What time 'mid evening grey the zephyrs sigh
Along the bosom of the russet plain,
My wondering eyes thy giant forms detain,
Rearing in mystic rounds their bulk on high.
Over thy birth Oblivion long has thrown
Her darkest veil: by Druids led of yore
The milk-white steeds distain'd thy sides with gore:
Yet now Duration marks thee for his own;
And as in regal state he sits sublime,
With iron sceptre deck'd and iron crown,
He smiles contemptuous in the face of time,
Who strives with idle hand to bend thee down.
"Departing crush some weaker prey (he cries)
This fabrick sinks not until Nature dies."
SAMUEL MARSH ORAM
(1767—1793)
Poems_1794
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SORROW
I know thee, Sorrow, with thy downcast eye
And hair disheveled; o'er thy sorrowed mien,
No transient beam of joy is ever seen,
As sad thou rov'st, when evening veils the sky,
To seek thy haunts. The roseate hours are gone,
When fairy Hope, through many a blooming vale,
With gladsome steps once cheerly led thee on,
'Midst musick's powers waked by the whispering gale.
But ah! How sickle Fortune changed the scene!
Just suffered life's fair views to meet thine eye,
To plunge thee deeper into misery,
With no bright beam of hope to intervene;
And left thee her ills the bitter share,
To mourn upon the brink of dark despair.
DESPAIR
Ye worlds of water wide that madly roar,
Urged by the fury of the howling wind,
Dire cause of many a riven wreck behind!
Take my poor bark from off the wave-worn shore,
And bear it where some fractured sable rock
Sternly protrudes, and soon absorb it there,
As all my joys in grief's sad vortex are;
Whilst on it's torn side reckless of the shock
Of warring elements, whose din no more
Strikes me with dread, the cries of shipwrecked fear,
The farewell dying moan shall meet my ear:
Some kindly swelling surge may waft me o'er
life's narrow bounds, and to my troubled breast
convey the long-sought, wished-for stranger—rest.
CHARLES LAMB
(1775—1834)
The Poetical Works_1836
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SONNET
(1795)
If from my lips some angry accents fell,
Peevish complaint, or harsh reproof unkind,
'Twas but the error of a sickly mind
And troubled thoughts, clouding the purer well,
And waters clear, of Reason; and for me
Let this my verse the poor atonement be—
My verse, which thou to praise wert ever inclined
Too highly, and with a partial eye to see
No blemish. Thou to me didst ever shew
Kindest affection; and would oft-times lend
An ear to the desponding love-sick lay,
Weeping my sorrows with me, who repay
But ill the mighty debt of love I owe,
Mary, to thee, my sister and my friend.
SONNET
(1795)
Was it some sweet device of faery land
That mock'd my steps with many a lonely glade,
And fancied wand'rings with a fair-hair'd maid?
Have these things been? Or did the wizard wand
Of Merlin wave, impregning vacant air,
And kindle up the vision of a smile
In those blue eyes, that seem'd to speak the while
Such tender things, as might enforce Despair
To drop the murth'ring knife, and let go by
His fell resolve? Ah me! The lonely glade
Still courts the footsteps of the fair-hair'd maid,
Among whose locks the west-winds love to sigh;
But I forlorn do wander, reckless where,
And mid my wand'rings find no Ann there!
ROBERT SOUTHEY
(1774—1843)
The poetical Works of Robert Southey (Collected by Himself)_1837
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SONNET XIII
I Marvel not, O Sun! That unto thee
In adoration man should bow the knee,
And pour his prayers of mingled awe and love,
For like a God thou art, and on thy way
Of glory sheddest, with benignant ray,
Beauty, and life, and joyance from above.
No longer let these mists thy radiance shroud,
These cold, raw mists, that chill the comfortless day,
But shed thy splendor through the opening cloud,
And cheer the earth once more. The languid flowers
Lie scentless, beaten down with heavy rain;
Earth asks thy presence, saturate with showers;
O Lord of Light! Put forth thy beams again,
For damp and cheerless are the gloomy hours.
SONNET IX
O thou sweet Lark, that in the heaven so high
Twinkling thy wings dost sing so joyfully,
I watch thee soaring with no mean delight,
And when at last I turn mine aching eye
That lags, how far below that lofty flight.
Still silently receive thy melody.
O thou sweet Lark, that I had wings like thee!
Not for the joy it were in yon blue light
Upward to plunge, and from my heavenly height
Gaze on the creeping multitude below,
But that I soon would wing my eager flight
To that loved home where Fancy even now
Hath fled, and Hope looks onward thro' a tear,
Counting the weary hours that keep her here.
SONNET XIV
Fair be thy fortunes in the distant land,
Companion of my earlier years and friend!
Go to the Eastern world, and may the hand
Of Heaven its blessing on thy labour send.
And may I, if we ever more should meet,
See thee with affluence to thy native shore
Return'd ;.. I need not pray that I may greet
The same untainted goodness as before.
Long years must intervene before that day;
And what the changes Heaven to each may send,
It boots not now to bode: Oh early friend!
Assured, no distance e'er can wear away
Esteem long rooted, and no change remove
The dear remembrance of the friend we love.
SONNET IV
As thus I stand beside the murmuring stream
And watch its current, Memory here portrays
Scenes faintly form'd of half-forgotten days,
Like far-off woodlands by the moon's bright beam
Dimly descried, but lovely. I have worn
Amid these haunts the heavy hours away,
When Childhood idled through the Sabbath-day;
Risen to my tasks at winter's earliest morn;
And when the twilight slowly darken'd, here,
Thinking of home, and all of heart forlorn,
Have sigh'd and shed in silence many a tear.
Dream-like and indistinct those days appear,
As the faint sounds of this low brooklet borne
Upon the breeze, reach fitfully the ear.
ROBERT LOVELL
(1771—1796)
Poems by Bion and Moschus_1794
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I'll court thy lone bow'r, Sensibility!
And mark thy lovely form, wild waving hair,
Thy loosely flowing robe, thy languid eye,
And all those charms which blend to make thee fair.
Far from the madding crowd thou lov'st to stray
Recluse, and listen at the silent hour,
When wildly warbling from her secret bow'r
The pensive night-bird pours her evening lay.
'Tis thine own minstrel's melody is heard,
And as her sad song, by the moon's still beam,
Dies softly on mine ear, more sweet I deem
Her mournful note than song of blither bird;
So more than beauty's cheek of vermeil dye
Charms thy soft downcast mein and tear-dew'd eye.
Mark'st thou yon streamlet in its onward course?
Mark'st thou the reed that on its surface floats?
Lightly it drifts along, and well denotes
The light impression on the youthful breast,
Which, in life's summer, transiently imprest,
Glides o'er the mind, unfix'd by stable force:
But o'er the fading year, when winter reigns,
Chill sleeps the stream, its wonted current stay'd,
And on its bosom, where of late it play'd,
Frolic and light the reed infix'd remains.
Thus, when life's wintry season, cold and hoar,
Freezes the genial flow of mental power,
The mind, tenacious of its gather'd store,
Detains each thought belov'd, conceiv'd in vernal hour.
JOHN THELWALL
(1764—1834)
Poems Written in Close Confinement in the Tower and Newgate_1795
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TO THOMAS HARDY
Hardy, whose Spartan virtue wakes the glow
Of generous emulation—While the tear
(Erewhile by Patriot zeal forbad to flow)
Amidst thy well-earned triumphs, o'er the bier
Of a lov'd Consort falls, our hearts bestow
Responsive drops, and brighter still appear
Thy manly virtues.—O supremely blest—
Could «worth» our bliss secure!—Thy generous soul,
By Nature's partial hand alike imprest
With Fortitude, above the base controul
Of Tyranny, and the diviner zest
Of social Tenderness, shall claim
Beyond the Muse's praise, while deathless Fame
Inscribes, in Freedom's shrine, thy Patriot name.
TO LUXURY
Hence, Luxury! Fell opiate of the soul!
Hence! With thy gaudy visions, that confound
The wildering sense, and to the base controul
Of Vice subdue thy votaries. On the ground
Where thy detested drugs are strew'd, shall blow
No flower of manly worth: there Liberty,
That on the rugged cliff delights to grow
Of virtuous Poverty shall never shed
Its soul-reviving sweets; nor there shall spread
The wild flowers of Content, and guiltless Joy—
The twining woodbine Friendship—Nor thy flower,
Fair Truth! That like the snow-drop, the stern power
Of Winter's blast defies: No, Luxury!
These, and each pure delight, thy noxious weeds destroy.
TO ANCESTRY
O, that there were indeed some hidden charm—
Some magic power in Ancestry!—Thy shore,
O Britain! Then, renown'd in days of yore
For gallant spirits, ne'er should brook the arm
Of tyrannous Oppression;—Then no more
Should thy degenerate progeny adore
The arts of splendid Slavery, that now
Unnerve the soul, and of her custom'd vow
Defraud thy once-lov'd Liberty;—The lore
Of Freedom should be reverenc'd; nor the few,
To ancient fame, and patriot feeling true,
Who dare assert thy rights, deserted mourn—
From each endearing tie of Nature torn,
And from the dungeon's gloom their Country's fall deplore.
ROBERT ANDERSON
(1770—1833)
Poems on Various Subjects_1798
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SONNET IX
TO THE RIVER EDEN
Thou murm'ring emblem of a troubled mind,
That wak'st fond Memory's tear, for ever true!
Time was, when, on thy moss-grown bank reclin'd,
I view'd thy surface ruffled by the wind,
As eager, light-wing'd Fancy forward flew;
Then did I dream of joys I ne'er could find—
'Twas life's gay spring, and sorrows were but few,
Sweet stream! Whose mournful melody is dear,
Far from fell Slander and her wolfish brood!
A wand'rer oft, thy flow'r-clad margin near,
I'll pensive think of man's ingratitude;
And youth's gay age, when Mirth oft led me here,
Ere Mis'ry bade me drop the painful tear,
Or Hope, with flatt'ring tale, this bosom did delude.
SONNET XXII
Let others praise the splendour of the town,
Where Wealth unfeeling, Misery doth deride;
Where patient Merit seldom gains renown,
But sinks beneath the bitter taunt of Pride,
And Virtue pines in want; while Vice on down
Sees pamper'd Folly fatt'ning by her side.
Tho' Grandeur scorns me, and my cot be rude;
Tho' doom'd to tread thro' life a thorny way;
Tho' the fair flow'rs, by youthful Fancy strew'd,
Ere manhood's prime, had hasten'd to decay,
And on my steps doth Sorrow aye intrude,
Dark'ning the light of Hope's heart-cheering ray;
Yet fain with thee I'd dwell, sweet Solitude,
And, far from Riot, wait life's closing day.
WILLIAM COWPER
(1731—1800)
Poems (Two Volumes)_1798
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SONNET TO WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, ESQ.
Thy country, Wilberforce, with just disdain,
Hears thee, by cruel men and impious, call'd
Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose th' enthrall'd
From exile, public sale, and slav'ry's chain.
Friend of the poor, the wrong'd, the fetter-gall'd,
Fear not lest labour such as thine be vain!
Thou hast achiev'd a part; hast gain'd the ear
Of Britain's senate to thy glorious cause;
Hope smiles, joy springs, and tho' cold caution pause
And weave delay, the better hour is near,
That shall remunerate thy toils severe
By peace for Afric, fenc'd with British laws.
Enjoy what thou hast won, esteem and love
From all the just on earth, and all the blest above!
REV. WILLIAM COLLIER
(1743—1803)
Poems on Various Occasions; with Translations from Authors in Different Languages (Two Volumes)_1800
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With hearts unchill’d by doubt or by dismay,
Let lovers make reluctant beauty bow;
No seign’d contempt their eager hopes delay,
Nor the short anger of an artful brow:
In various toils the fair our tempers prove,
In various forms exert their sickle sway;
The crown the victor with deserved love,
As they rule best who can the best obey.
Thus wily Proteus ev’ry pow’r essay’d
To daunt the shepherd, and his grasp evade,
While direst forms the struggling God conceal’d;
Till held secure by this relentless hand,
No more he strove against the just demand,
Resum’d his shape, and Fate’s high will reveal’d.
With Smiles, false Tokens of pretended Joy
The pangs of real Anguish I endure:
No wavering Hopes or Fears my thoughts employ;
Vain both to Him whose Misery is sure.
Calm on my brow sits well dissermbled Ease,
While light Indifference every chance defies;
Since Fortune’s fairest look must fail to please
When tyrant Fate my only wish denies.
Ye fond Complaints forbear your vain Request,
Nor urge the pity of my Laura’s Breast
To feel for Sorrows she can ne’er allay.
Bleed on, my Heart! –But let the kind Disguise
Spread unsuspected o’er my tongue and eyes;
Deceiving only lest I should betray.
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NOTA:
Para el presente posteo las fuentes consultadas corresponden a las obras consignadas debajo de cada autor, las cuales son de su propia autoría o bien fueron escritas después de su muerte.
Aprovecho la ocasión para recordarles que las entradas sobre las fórmulas del soneto no constituyen una antología poética, pues encontrarán que muchos autores consagrados no se hallan aquí e incluso, es probable que algunos les sean totalmente desconocidos.
Con respecto a las fórmulas, recuerden que sólo son las que ensayaron los poetas en su momento y que no habían sido empleadas con anterioridad. Sin embargo, no debe pensarse que únicamente escribieron con esas fórmulas; por el contrario, también usaron los esquemas clásicos y los de otros poetas, contemporáneos o no.
