SONNET.

If he whose bosom with no transport swells
 In vernal airs, and hours, commits the crime
 Of sullenness to Nature; 'gainst the time,
 And its great RULER, he alike rebels
 Who seriousness, and pious dread repels,
 And aweless gazes on the faded Clime,
 Dim in the gloom, and pale in the hoar rhyme,
 That o'er the bleak, and dreary Prospect steals. 
Spring claims our tender, grateful, gay delight;
 Winter our sympathy, and sacred fear;
 And sure the Hearts that pay not Pity's rite
 O'er wide Calamity, — that careless hear
 Creation's wail, — neglect, amid her blight,
 The solemn lesson of the RUIN'D YEAR.