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Sonnet,
In vain to me the smiling Morning shine,
ond redning Phabu lifts his golden Fire
The Birds in vain their amorous Jescant
Oz chearful Liebes

their green Adire?
These bone, alas: for other Notes repine,
My lonely Anguish meles
et different Object do these lyer require

Heart, but
sind in my Breast the imperfect Soys expire
Yet Morning smiles the busy Race to cheer

,
And new-born Pleasure brings to happier Men:
The Fields to all their monted Tribute bear
So

their little Loves the Birds complain: Sfruitle mourn to him that cannot hear, the because I

weep

* at Sicke elig

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resilme

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And weep

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GIFT OF

A.F. Morrison

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