Poem by Charlotte Turner Smith

Sonnet 5. To the South Downs

AH! hills beloved!--where once, a happy child,
Your beechen shades, 'your turf, your flowers among,'
I wove your blue-bells into garlands wild,
And woke your echoes with my artless song.
Ah! hills beloved!--your turf, your flowers remain;
But can they peace to this sad breast restore,
For one poor moment soothe the sense of pain,
And teach a breaking heart to throb no more?
And you, Aruna!--in the vale below,
As to the sea your limpid waves you bear
Can you one kind Lethean cup bestow,
To drink a long oblivion to my care?
Ah! no!--when all, e'en Hope's last ray is gone,
There's no oblivion--but in death alone! 

1. Sonnet 85. The Fairest Flowers Are Gone! For Tempests Fell
2. Sonnet 43. The Unhappy Exile
3. Sonnet 33. To the Naiad of the Arun
4. Sonnet 51. Supposed to have been written in the Hebrides
5. Sonnet 13. From Petrarch (OH! place me where the burning moon)

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