SONNET
[
41
]
XLI.
To
Tranquillity
.
IN
this
tumultuous
sphere
,
for
thee
unfit
,
How
seldom
art
thou
found
—
Tranquillity
!
Unless
'tis
when
with
mild
and
downcast
eye
,
By
the
low
cradles
,
thou
delight'st
to
sit
,
Of
sleeping
infants
—
watching
the
soft
breath
,
And
bidding
the
sweet
slumb'rers
easy
lie
;
Or
sometimes
hanging
o'er
the
bed
of
death
,
Where
the
poor
languid
suff'rer
—
hopes
to
die
.
Oh
!
beauteous
sister
of
the
halcyon
Peace
!
I
sure
shall
find
thee
in
that
heav'nly
scene
Where
Care
and
Anguish
shall
their
pow'r
regin
;
Where
Hope
alike
,
and
vain
Regret
shall
cease
;
And
Memory
—
lost
in
happiness
serene
,
Repeat
no
more
—
that
misery
has
been
mine
!