BY R. H. WILDE, _Of Georgia_.
Sonnet xliii. of the edition of 1779-1780.
"O cysne quando sente ser chegada," &c.
They say the Swan, though mute his whole life long,
Pours forth sweet melody when life is flying,
Making the desert plaintive with his song,
Wondrous and sad, and sweetest still while dying;
Is it for life and pleasure past he's sighing,
Grieving to lose what none can e'er prolong?
Oh, no! he hails its close, on death relying
As an escape from violence and wrong:
And thus, dear lady! I at length perceiving,
The fatal end of my unhappy madness,
In thy oft broken faith no more believing,
Welcome despair's sole comforter with gladness,
And mourning one so fair is so deceiving,
Breathe out my soul in notes of love and sadness.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.