Sonnet LXX. To A Young Lady In Affliction, Who Fancied She Should Never More Be Happy.

Yes, thou shalt smile again! - Time always heals
In youth, the wounds of Sorrow. - O! survey
Yon now subsided Deep, thro' Night a prey
To warring Winds, and to their furious peals
Surging tumultuous! - yet, as in dismay,
The settling Billows tremble. - Morning steals
Grey on the rocks; - and soon, to pour the day
From the streak'd east, the radiant Orb unveils
In all his pride of light. - Thus shall the glow
Of beauty, health, and hope, by soft degrees
Spread o'er thy breast; disperse these storms of woe;
Wake, with sweet pleasure's sense, the wish to please,
Till from those eyes the wonted lustres flow,
Bright as the Sun on calm'd and crystal Seas.