118
SONNET IV.
What tho' no sculptured monument proclaim
Thy fate—yet Albert in my breast I bear
Inshrined the sad remembrance; yet thy name
Will fill my throbbing bosom. When Despair
The child of murdered Hope, fed on thy heart,
Loved honoured friend, I saw thee sink forlorn,
Pierced to the soul by cold Neglect's keen dart,
And Penury's hard ills, and pitying Scorn,
And the dark spectre of departed Joy
Inhuman Memory. Often on thy grave
Love I the solitary hour to employ
Thinking on other days; and heave the sigh
Responsive, when I mark the high grass wave
Sad sounding as the cold breeze rustles by.
1794.
Thy fate—yet Albert in my breast I bear
Inshrined the sad remembrance; yet thy name
Will fill my throbbing bosom. When Despair
The child of murdered Hope, fed on thy heart,
Loved honoured friend, I saw thee sink forlorn,
Pierced to the soul by cold Neglect's keen dart,
And Penury's hard ills, and pitying Scorn,
And the dark spectre of departed Joy
Inhuman Memory. Often on thy grave
Love I the solitary hour to employ
Thinking on other days; and heave the sigh
Responsive, when I mark the high grass wave
Sad sounding as the cold breeze rustles by.
1794.
