Sonnet. Written on the Sea-Shore

How sweet's the calm that fills the evening hour!
Now on the sea the western breezes play,
While to yon clouds the sun's retiring pow'r
Gives, as he flies, his last pale glitt'ring ray.
But see! beneath yon rosy tinted cloud,
Mountains of gloom in dismal pomp arise,
Intent the envied gleam of light to shroud,
And wrap in general night the low'ring skies.
Yet still the gift of the departing sun
Gilds the dark mass, and triumphs o'er the gloom;
Still on its edges doth in mazes run,
And makes its form one glowing charm assume.
So, tyrant Love! the flatterer hope bestows,
Amidst thy doubts and cares, a promise of REPOSE.