Sonnet XC. Subject Continued.

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!