SONNET VII.

As o'er the lengthen'd plain the traveller goes, Weary and sad, his wayward fancy strays To scenes which late he pass'd, haply to raise The transient joy which memory bestows; And oft, while hope dispels the gathering gloom, He paints the approaching scene in colours gay: So I, to cheer me in life's rugged way, Or glance o'er pleasures past, or think of bliss to come. But ah! reflection vainly we employ On pleasures past, and fugitive the joy When the mind rests on hope's delusive power; Blest only they who present joys can taste, Nor fear the future, nor regret the past, But happy, as it flies, enjoy the present hour.