Charlotte Turner Smith (Шарлотта Смит)

Sonnet 9. Blest is yon shepherd, on the turf reclined

BLEST is yon shepherd, on the turf reclined,
Who on the varied clouds which float above
Lies idly gazing--while his vacant mind
Pours out some tale antique of rural love!
Ah! he has never felt the pangs that move
Th' indignant spirit, when with selfish pride
Friends, on whose faith the trusting heart relied,
Unkindly shun th' imploring eye of woe!
The ills they ought to soothe with taunts deride,
And laugh at tears themselves have forced to flow.
Nor his rude bosom those fine feelings melt,
Children of Sentiment and Knowledge born,
Through whom each shaft with cruel force is felt,
Empoison'd by deceit--or barb'd with scorn.

1. Sonnet 85. The Fairest Flowers Are Gone! For Tempests Fell
2. Sonnet 21. Supposed to Written by Werter
3. Sonnet 27. Sighing I See Yon Little Troop at Play
4. Sonnet 75. Where the Wild Woods and Pathless Forests Frown
5. Sonnet 66. The Night-Flood Rakes

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