https://sonett.fontane-place.de/ Mon, 29 Jun 2026 02:39:17 +0000 MyBB https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=23243 Wed, 27 Aug 2014 16:27:56 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=23243 And ebon Night assumes her solemn sway,
Yet here alone, unheeding time, I lie,
And o'er my friend still pour the plaintive lay.
Oh! 'tis not long since, George, with thee I woo'd
The maid of musings by yon moaning wave;
And hail'd the moon's mild beam, which, now renew'd,
Seems sweetly sleeping on thy silent grave!
The busy world pursues its boisterous way,
The noise of revelry still echoes round,
Yet I am sad while all beside is gay;
Yet still I weep o'er thy deserted mound.
Oh! that, like thee, I might bid sorrow cease,
And 'neath the greensward sleep the sleep of peace.]]> And ebon Night assumes her solemn sway,
Yet here alone, unheeding time, I lie,
And o'er my friend still pour the plaintive lay.
Oh! 'tis not long since, George, with thee I woo'd
The maid of musings by yon moaning wave;
And hail'd the moon's mild beam, which, now renew'd,
Seems sweetly sleeping on thy silent grave!
The busy world pursues its boisterous way,
The noise of revelry still echoes round,
Yet I am sad while all beside is gay;
Yet still I weep o'er thy deserted mound.
Oh! that, like thee, I might bid sorrow cease,
And 'neath the greensward sleep the sleep of peace.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=23242 Wed, 27 Aug 2014 16:24:48 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=23242

WRITTEN IN NOVEMBER.


Sublime, emerging from the misty verge
Of the horizon dim, thee, Moon, I hail,
As, sweeping o'er the leafless grove, the gale
Seems to repeat the year's funereal dirge.
Now Autumn sickens on the languid sight,
And leaves bestrew the wanderer's lonely way,
Now unto thee, pale arbitress of night,
With double joy my homage do I pay.
When clouds disguise the glories of the day,
And stern November sheds her boisterous blight,
How doubly sweet to mark the moony ray
Shoot through the mist from the ethereal height,
And, still unchanged, back to the memory bring
The smiles Favonian of life's earliest spring.]]>

WRITTEN IN NOVEMBER.


Sublime, emerging from the misty verge
Of the horizon dim, thee, Moon, I hail,
As, sweeping o'er the leafless grove, the gale
Seems to repeat the year's funereal dirge.
Now Autumn sickens on the languid sight,
And leaves bestrew the wanderer's lonely way,
Now unto thee, pale arbitress of night,
With double joy my homage do I pay.
When clouds disguise the glories of the day,
And stern November sheds her boisterous blight,
How doubly sweet to mark the moony ray
Shoot through the mist from the ethereal height,
And, still unchanged, back to the memory bring
The smiles Favonian of life's earliest spring.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=23241 Wed, 27 Aug 2014 16:24:11 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=23241 That we, thy children, when old age shall shed
Its blanching honours on thy weary head,
Could from our best of duties ever shrink?
Sooner the sun from his high sphere should sink
Than we, ungrateful, leave thee in that day,
To pine in solitude thy life away,
Or shun thee, tottering on the grave's cold brink.
Banish the thought!--where'er our steps may roam,
O'er smiling plains, or wastes without a tree,
Still will fond memory point our hearts to thee,
And paint the pleasures of thy peaceful home;
While duty bids us all thy griefs assuage,
And smooth the pillow of thy sinking age.]]> That we, thy children, when old age shall shed
Its blanching honours on thy weary head,
Could from our best of duties ever shrink?
Sooner the sun from his high sphere should sink
Than we, ungrateful, leave thee in that day,
To pine in solitude thy life away,
Or shun thee, tottering on the grave's cold brink.
Banish the thought!--where'er our steps may roam,
O'er smiling plains, or wastes without a tree,
Still will fond memory point our hearts to thee,
And paint the pleasures of thy peaceful home;
While duty bids us all thy griefs assuage,
And smooth the pillow of thy sinking age.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=23240 Wed, 27 Aug 2014 16:23:21 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=23240 The simple Muse, admiring, fain would bring;
She longs to lisp thee to the listening throng,
And with thy name to bid the woodlands ring.
Fain would she blazon all thy virtues forth,
Thy warm philanthropy, thy justice mild,
Would say how thou didst foster kindred worth,
And to thy bosom snatch'd Misfortune's child:
Firm she would paint thee, with becoming zeal,
Upright, and learned, as the Pylian sire,
Would say how sweetly thou couldst sweep the lyre,
And show thy labours for the public weal,
Ten thousand virtues tell with joys supreme,
But ah! she shrinks abash'd before the arduous theme.]]> The simple Muse, admiring, fain would bring;
She longs to lisp thee to the listening throng,
And with thy name to bid the woodlands ring.
Fain would she blazon all thy virtues forth,
Thy warm philanthropy, thy justice mild,
Would say how thou didst foster kindred worth,
And to thy bosom snatch'd Misfortune's child:
Firm she would paint thee, with becoming zeal,
Upright, and learned, as the Pylian sire,
Would say how sweetly thou couldst sweep the lyre,
And show thy labours for the public weal,
Ten thousand virtues tell with joys supreme,
But ah! she shrinks abash'd before the arduous theme.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=23239 Wed, 27 Aug 2014 16:22:48 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=23239 And all is silence--in the hour of sleep;
Save when the hollow gust, that swells by fits,
In the dark wood roars fearfully and deep.
I wake alone to listen and to weep,
To watch my taper, thy pale beacon burn;
And, as still Memory does her vigils keep,
To think of days that never can return.
By thy pale ray I raise my languid head,
My eye surveys the solitary gloom;
And the sad meaning tear, unmix'd with dread,
Tells thou dost light me to the silent tomb.
Like thee I wane;--like thine my life's last ray
Will fade in loneliness, unwept, away.]]> And all is silence--in the hour of sleep;
Save when the hollow gust, that swells by fits,
In the dark wood roars fearfully and deep.
I wake alone to listen and to weep,
To watch my taper, thy pale beacon burn;
And, as still Memory does her vigils keep,
To think of days that never can return.
By thy pale ray I raise my languid head,
My eye surveys the solitary gloom;
And the sad meaning tear, unmix'd with dread,
Tells thou dost light me to the silent tomb.
Like thee I wane;--like thine my life's last ray
Will fade in loneliness, unwept, away.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=23238 Wed, 27 Aug 2014 16:22:16 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=23238 Storm, while on board a Ship in his Majesty's service.


Lo! o'er the welkin the tempestuous clouds
Successive fly, and the loud piping wind
Rocks the poor sea-boy on the dripping shrouds,
While the pale pilot, o'er the helm reclined,
Lists to the changeful storm: and as he plies
His wakeful task, he oft bethinks him, sad,
Of wife, and little home, and chubby lad,
And the half strangled tear bedews his eyes;
I, on the deck, musing on themes forlorn,
View the drear tempest, and the yawning deep,
Nought dreading in the green sea's caves to sleep,
For not for me shall wife or children mourn,
And the wild winds will ring my funeral knell,
Sweetly as solemn peal of pious passing-bell.]]> Storm, while on board a Ship in his Majesty's service.


Lo! o'er the welkin the tempestuous clouds
Successive fly, and the loud piping wind
Rocks the poor sea-boy on the dripping shrouds,
While the pale pilot, o'er the helm reclined,
Lists to the changeful storm: and as he plies
His wakeful task, he oft bethinks him, sad,
Of wife, and little home, and chubby lad,
And the half strangled tear bedews his eyes;
I, on the deck, musing on themes forlorn,
View the drear tempest, and the yawning deep,
Nought dreading in the green sea's caves to sleep,
For not for me shall wife or children mourn,
And the wild winds will ring my funeral knell,
Sweetly as solemn peal of pious passing-bell.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=17494 Sun, 28 Oct 2007 14:20:26 +0100 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=17494 Thou broodest on the calm that cheers the lands,
And Thou dost bear within Thine awful hands
The rolling thunders and the lightnings fleet ;
Stern on Thy dark-wrought car of cloud and wind
Thou guid'st the northern storm at night's dead noon,
Or on the red wing of the fierce monsoon
Disturb'st the sleeping giant of the Ind.
In the drear silence of the polar span
Dost Thou repose ? or in the solitude
Of sultry tracts, where the lone caravan
Hears nightly howl the tiger's hungry brood ?
Vain thought, the confines of His throne to trace
Who glows through all the fields of boundless space !]]> Thou broodest on the calm that cheers the lands,
And Thou dost bear within Thine awful hands
The rolling thunders and the lightnings fleet ;
Stern on Thy dark-wrought car of cloud and wind
Thou guid'st the northern storm at night's dead noon,
Or on the red wing of the fierce monsoon
Disturb'st the sleeping giant of the Ind.
In the drear silence of the polar span
Dost Thou repose ? or in the solitude
Of sultry tracts, where the lone caravan
Hears nightly howl the tiger's hungry brood ?
Vain thought, the confines of His throne to trace
Who glows through all the fields of boundless space !]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14366 Mon, 07 May 2007 12:00:17 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14366

Let the sublimer Muse, who wrapt in night
Rides on the raven pennons of the storm,
Or o'er the field with purple havock warm
Lashes her steeds and sings along the fight,--
Let her, whom more ferocious strains delight,
Disdain the plaintive sonnet's little form,
And scorn to its mild cadence to conform
The impetuous tenor of her hardy flight.
But me, far lowliest of the sylvan train
Who wake the wood-nymphs from the forest shade
With wildest song,--me much behooves the aid
Of mingled melody, to grace my strain,
And give it power to please, as soft it flows
Through the smooth murmurs of thy frequent close.]]>

Let the sublimer Muse, who wrapt in night
Rides on the raven pennons of the storm,
Or o'er the field with purple havock warm
Lashes her steeds and sings along the fight,--
Let her, whom more ferocious strains delight,
Disdain the plaintive sonnet's little form,
And scorn to its mild cadence to conform
The impetuous tenor of her hardy flight.
But me, far lowliest of the sylvan train
Who wake the wood-nymphs from the forest shade
With wildest song,--me much behooves the aid
Of mingled melody, to grace my strain,
And give it power to please, as soft it flows
Through the smooth murmurs of thy frequent close.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14365 Mon, 07 May 2007 11:59:45 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14365
Misfortune, I am young, my chin is bare,
And I have wondered much when men have told
How youth was free from sorrow and from care,
That thou shouldst dwell with me and leave the old.
Sure dost not like me!--Shrivelled hag of hate,
My phiz--and thanks to thee--is sadly long;
I am not either, beldame, over strong;
Nor do I wish at all to be thy mate,
For thou, sweet fury, art my utter hate.
Nay, shake not thus thy miserable pate
I am yet young, and do not like thy face;
And lest thou shouldst resume the wild-goose chase
I'll tell thee something all thy heat to assuage
Thou wilt not hit my fancy in my age.]]>
Misfortune, I am young, my chin is bare,
And I have wondered much when men have told
How youth was free from sorrow and from care,
That thou shouldst dwell with me and leave the old.
Sure dost not like me!--Shrivelled hag of hate,
My phiz--and thanks to thee--is sadly long;
I am not either, beldame, over strong;
Nor do I wish at all to be thy mate,
For thou, sweet fury, art my utter hate.
Nay, shake not thus thy miserable pate
I am yet young, and do not like thy face;
And lest thou shouldst resume the wild-goose chase
I'll tell thee something all thy heat to assuage
Thou wilt not hit my fancy in my age.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14364 Mon, 07 May 2007 11:59:16 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14364
As thus oppressed with many a heavy care
(Though young yet sorrowful), I turn my feet
To the dark woodland, longing much to greet
The form of peace, if chance she sojourn there;
Deep thought and dismal, verging to despair,
Fills my sad breast; and tired with this vain coil
I shrink dismayed before life's upland toil,
And as amid the leaves the evening air
Whispers still melody,
--I think, ere long
When I no more can hear, these woods will speak;
And then a sad smile plays upon my cheek,
And mournful fantasies upon me throng,
And I do ponder with most strange delight
On the calm slumbers of the dead man's night.]]>
As thus oppressed with many a heavy care
(Though young yet sorrowful), I turn my feet
To the dark woodland, longing much to greet
The form of peace, if chance she sojourn there;
Deep thought and dismal, verging to despair,
Fills my sad breast; and tired with this vain coil
I shrink dismayed before life's upland toil,
And as amid the leaves the evening air
Whispers still melody,
--I think, ere long
When I no more can hear, these woods will speak;
And then a sad smile plays upon my cheek,
And mournful fantasies upon me throng,
And I do ponder with most strange delight
On the calm slumbers of the dead man's night.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14363 Mon, 07 May 2007 11:58:41 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14363
Yes, it will be over soon.--This sickly dream
Of life will vanish from my feverish brain;
And death my wearied spirit will redeem
From this wild region of unvaried pain.
Yon brook will glide as softly as before,
Yon landscape smile,--yon golden harvest grow,
Yon sprightly lark on mounting wing will soar
When Henry's name is heard no more below.
I sigh when all my youthful friends caress,
They laugh in health, and future evils brave;
Them shall a wife and smiling children bless,
While I am mouldering in my silent grave.
God of the just, Thou gavest the bitter cup;
I bow to Thy behest, and drink it up.]]>
Yes, it will be over soon.--This sickly dream
Of life will vanish from my feverish brain;
And death my wearied spirit will redeem
From this wild region of unvaried pain.
Yon brook will glide as softly as before,
Yon landscape smile,--yon golden harvest grow,
Yon sprightly lark on mounting wing will soar
When Henry's name is heard no more below.
I sigh when all my youthful friends caress,
They laugh in health, and future evils brave;
Them shall a wife and smiling children bless,
While I am mouldering in my silent grave.
God of the just, Thou gavest the bitter cup;
I bow to Thy behest, and drink it up.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14362 Mon, 07 May 2007 11:58:03 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14362
Gently, most gently on thy victim's head,
Consumption, lay thine hand! Let me decay
Like the expiring lamp, unseen, away,
And softly go to slumber with the dead!
And if it is true what holy men have said
That strains angelic oft foretell the day
Of death to those good men who fall thy prey,
O let the aërial music round my bed,
Dissolving slow in dying symphony,
Whisper the solemn warnings to my ear:
That I may bid my weeping friends good-bye
Ere I depart upon my journey drear;
And, smiling faintly on the painful past,
Compose my decent head and breathe my last.]]>
Gently, most gently on thy victim's head,
Consumption, lay thine hand! Let me decay
Like the expiring lamp, unseen, away,
And softly go to slumber with the dead!
And if it is true what holy men have said
That strains angelic oft foretell the day
Of death to those good men who fall thy prey,
O let the aërial music round my bed,
Dissolving slow in dying symphony,
Whisper the solemn warnings to my ear:
That I may bid my weeping friends good-bye
Ere I depart upon my journey drear;
And, smiling faintly on the painful past,
Compose my decent head and breathe my last.]]>