Sonnet II by Joseph Fawcett

When raging Summer, from his blazing throne,
Darts his fierce rays o’er all the breezless skies,
How soft a night, the grove, to which he flies,
Flings o’er the languid fugitive from noon!
There, screen’d from Heaven’s oppressive fervour, soon
His sense revives, as stretch’d at ease he lies:
Reliev’d from glare, to his recovering eyes
The sylvan scene, by graver light, is shown:
Such, pleasing Melancholy, thy bland power!
Shade of the heart! the panting soul’s retreat
From scorching joys! blest is thy sombrous hour,
To Rapture’s burning mood succeeding sweet!
Oh! oft may life’s umbrageous scenes embower,
And shut my pensive breast from transports furious heat.

From: Fawcett, Joseph, Poems, by Joseph Fawcett. To which are added Civilised war, before published under the title of The art of war, with considerable alterations; and The art of poetry, according to the latest improvements, with additions, 1798, J. Johnson: London, p. 60.

Date: 1798

By: Joseph Fawcett (c1758-1804)


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