Sonnet XCI.

On the fleet streams, the Sun, that late arose,
In amber radiance plays; - the tall young grass
No foot hath bruis'd; - clear Morning, as I pass,
Breathes the pure gale, that on the blossom blows;
And, as with gold yon green hill's summit glows,
The lake inlays the vale with molten glass. -
Now is the Year's soft youth; - yet me, alas!
Cheers not as it was wont; - impending woes
Weigh on my heart; - the joys, that once were mine,
Spring leads not back; - and those that yet remain
Fade while she blooms. - Each hour more lovely shine
Her crystal beams, and feed her floral Train;
But ah with pale, and waning fires, decline
Those eyes, whose light my filial hopes sustain.