Sonnet. to May

In vain, soft May, thy fragrant flowers blow; In vain, thy feather'd minstrels pour the strain Of praise and love.—I wretched, still remain The child of suff'rance, and the prey of woe! The faint Narcissus, and the musky rose, I've often woo'd to my delighted breast; The primrose, and the vi'let too, I chose, And in one nosegay all their sweets compress'd. The lark's wild hymn, the linnet's artless lay, Oft "tun'd to ecstacy" my youthful heart!— But now!—thy blossoms, and thy birds, soft May, To this sad breast no rapture can impart!

MELISSA's frowns, thy gentle pow'r control, And spread the clouds of Winter o'er my soul.