Sonnet to Peace
The Monthly Magazine, XXV (July, 1808), p. 529
Oh! stay thy pilgrim feet, most lovely maid,
And cheer our social haunts with looks divine;
Here stop; repose thee in the sylvan shade,
For who can hurt a form so fair as thine?
Tis here sweet Nature ever loves to stray,
In wood, or dell, or up the mountain's side;
To trace the wanderings of the devious way,
Or lave her polish'd limbs in yonder tide.
Along the vale, the dusky hamlet seen,
Her soft inspiring voice the bosom cheers,
Days full of love, unsullied and serene,
And Joy the inmate of a length of years;
While thy sweet self shall hover o'er the scene,
And guide the trembler's steps, and calm her fears.
April 20, 1808.