Where shall I turn me? whither shall I bend

  My weary way? thus worn with toil and faint

  How thro' the thorny mazes of this wood

  Attain my distant dwelling? that deep cry

  That rings along the forest seems to sound

  My parting knell: it is the midnight howl

  Of hungry monsters prowling for their prey!

  Again! oh save me—save me gracious Heaven!

  I am not fit to die!

                       Thou coward wretch

  Why heaves thy trembling heart? why shake thy limbs

  Beneath their palsied burden? is there ought

  So lovely in existence? would'st thou drain

  Even to its dregs the bitter draught of life?

  Dash down the loathly bowl! poor outcast slave

  Stamp'd with the brand of Vice and Infamy

  Why should the villain Frederic shrink from Death?

  Death! where the magic in that empty name

  That chills my inmost heart? why at the thought

  Starts the cold dew of fear on every limb?

  There are no terrors to surround the Grave,

  When the calm Mind collected in itself

  Surveys that narrow house: the ghastly train

  That haunt the midnight of delirious Guilt

  Then vanish; in that home of endless rest

  All sorrows cease.—Would I might slumber there!

  Why then this panting of the fearful heart?

  This miser love of Life that dreads to lose

  Its cherish'd torment? shall the diseased man

  Yield up his members to the surgeon's knife,

  Doubtful of succour, but to ease his frame

  Of fleshly anguish, and the coward wretch,

  Whose ulcered soul can know no human help

  Shrink from the best Physician's certain aid?

  Oh it were better far to lay me down

  Here on this cold damp earth, till some wild beast

  Seize on his willing victim!

                               If to die

  Were all, it were most sweet to rest my head

  On the cold clod, and sleep the sleep of Death.

  But if the Archangel's trump at the last hour

  Startle the ear of Death and wake the soul

  To frenzy!—dreams of infancy! fit tales

  For garrulous beldames to affrighten babes!

  I have been guilty, yet my mind can bear

  The retrospect of guilt, yet in the hour

  Of deep contrition to THE ETERNAL look

  For mercy! for the child of Poverty,

  And "disinherited of happiness,"

  What if I warr'd upon the world? the world

  Had wrong'd me first: I had endur'd the ills

  Of hard injustice; all this goodly earth

  Was but to me one wild waste wilderness;

  I had no share in Nature's patrimony,

  Blasted were all my morning hopes of Youth,

  Dark DISAPPOINTMENT follow'd on my ways,

  CARE was my bosom inmate, and keen WANT

  Gnaw'd at my heart. ETERNAL ONE thou know'st

  How that poor heart even in the bitter hour

  Of lewdest revelry has inly yearn'd

  For peace!

            My FATHER! I will call on thee,

  Pour to thy mercy seat my earnest prayer,

  And wait thy peace in bowedness of soul.

  Oh thoughts of comfort! how the afflicted heart,

  Tired with the tempest of its passions, rests

  On you with holy hope! the hollow howl

  Of yonder harmless tenant of the woods

  Bursts not with terror on the sober'd sense.

  If I have sinn'd against mankind, on them

  Be that past sin; they made me what I was.

  In these extremest climes can Want no more

  Urge to the deeds of darkness, and at length

  Here shall I rest. What tho' my hut be poor—

  The rains descend not thro' its humble roof:

  Would I were there again! the night is cold;

  And what if in my wanderings I should rouse

  The savage from his thicket!

                                Hark! the gun!

  And lo—the fire of safety! I shall reach

  My little hut again! again by toil

  Force from the stubborn earth my sustenance,

  And quick-ear'd guilt will never start alarm'd

  Amid the well-earn'd meal. This felon's garb—

  Will it not shield me from the winds of Heaven?

  And what could purple more? Oh strengthen me

  Eternal One in this serener state!

  Cleanse thou mine heart, so PENITENCE and FAITH

  Shall heal my soul and my last days be peace.

Sonnets