Poem by Charlotte Turner Smith

Sonnet 16. From Petrarch (YE vales and woods! fair scenes of happier hours!)

YE vales and woods! fair scenes of happier hours!
Ye feather'd people, tenants of the grove!
And you, bright stream! befringed with shrubs and flowers,
Behold my grief, ye witnesses of love!
For ye beheld my infant passion rise,
And saw through years unchanged my faithful flame;
Now cold, in dust, the beauteous object lies,
And you, ye conscious scenes, are still the same!
While busy Memory still delights to dwell
On all the charms these bitter tears deplore,
And with a trembling hand describes too well
The angel form I shall behold no more!
To Heaven she's fled! and nought to me remains
But the pale ashes which her urn contains.

1. Sonnet 9. Blest is yon shepherd, on the turf reclined
2. Sonnet 33. To the Naiad of the Arun
3. Sonnet 43. The Unhappy Exile
4. Sonnet 66. The Night-Flood Rakes
5. Sonnet 51. Supposed to have been written in the Hebrides

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