SONNET
.
WRITTEN
ON
RISING
GROUND
,
NEAR
LICHFIELD
.
The
Evening
shines
in
May's
luxuriant
pride
,
And
all
the
sunny
hills
at
distance
glow
,
And
all
the
brooks
that
thro'
the
Valley
flow
,
Seem
liquid
gold
.
—
O
!
had
my
fate
denied
Leisure
,
and
power
to
taste
the
sweets
,
that
glide
Thro'
kindling
Souls
,
as
the
soft
Seasons
go
On
their
still
varying
progress
,
for
the
woe
My
heart
has
felt
,
what
balm
had
been
supplied
?
—
But
where
great
NATURE
smiles
,
as
here
she
smiles
,
'Mid
verdant
vales
,
and
gently-swelling
hills
,
And
glassy
lakes
,
and
mazy
,
murmuring
rills
,
And
narrow
wood-wild
lanes
,
her
spell
beguiles
Th'
impatient
sighs
of
grief
,
and
reconciles
Poetic
minds
to
Life
,
with
all
her
ills
.