Sonnet XIII
Thou child of Night, and Silence, balmy Sleep,
Shed thy soft poppies on my aching brow!
And charm to rest the thoughts of whence, or how
Vanish’d that priz’d Affection, wont to keep
Each grief of mine from rankling into woe.
Then stern Misfortune from her bended bow
Loos’d the dire strings;—and Care, and anxious Dread
From my cheer’d heart, on sullen pinion, fled.
But now, the spell dissolv’d, th’ Enchantress gone,
Ceaseless those cruel Fiends infest my day,
And sunny hours but light them to their prey.
Then welcome Midnight shades, when thy wish’d boon
May in oblivious dews my eye-lids steep,
Thou Child of Night, and Silence, balmy Sleep!
July 1773.