Sonnet. the Valentine of Hopeless Love!

Wak'd by the breath of spring, in ev'ry vale The latent primrose rears her sickly head; The virgin snow-drop decks the verdant bed, And vi'lets blue perfume the passing gale. The tuneful linnet plumes her speckl'd wing, The tender stock-dove cooes in every grove, The soaring lark chaunts loud the song of love;— All Nature owns thy influence, genial spring! All, all but I!—condemn'd by wayward fate To bear Love's keenest arrow in my breast; 'Tis vain to wish—to hope, alas! too late— No change of season gives my bosom rest!

A tear from thee is all the boon I crave, To dew the wither'd sod that marks my grave!