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On the Picture Of A Lady

Sorrow hath made thine eyes more dark and keen,

And set a whiter hue upon thy cheeks,

And round thy pressèd lips drawn anguish-streaks,

And made thy forehead fearfully serene.

Even in thy steady hair her work is seen;

For its still parted darkness--till it breaks

In heavy curls upon thy shoulders--speaks,

Like the stern wave, how hard the storm hath been.

by John Hamilton Reynolds

Copied From The Album Of A Wholesale House In The City

It is the precious province of true thought--

Of the divine creations of the mind--

To live unwearied in a heart overwrought

By busy intercourse with town--Mankind:

Poor merchant I! whom the dull world's trade-wind

Blows ever onward on a steady sea,

Feel oftentimes, mid murkiest men, refined

By visitants that come alone to me.

by John Hamilton Reynolds

Sonnet Sweet Poets Of The Gentle Antique Line

Sweet poets of the gentle antique line,

That made the hue of beauty all eterne;

And gave earth's melodies a silver turn,--

Where did you steal your art so right divine?--

Sweetly ye memoried every golden twine

Of your ladies' tresses: -- teach me how to spurn

Death's lone decaying and oblivion stern

From the sweet forehead of a lady mine.

by John Hamilton Reynolds

To Vauxhall: "The English Garden"

The cold transparent ham is on my fork

It hardly rains--and hark the bell!--ding dingle

Away! Three thousand feet at gravel work,

Mocking a Vauxhall shower!--Married and single

Crush--rush;--soaked silks with wet white satin mingle.

Hengler! Madame! round whom all bright sparks lurk,

Calls audibly on Mr. and Mrs. Pringle

To study the sublime, &c.--(vide Burke),

by John Hamilton Reynolds

To Spenser

Yet that have hearts vexed with unquiet thought

Of worldly grievance, and of lost delight;

Oh! turn to Spenser's Faerie Tale,--so fraught

With all that's mild, and beautiful, and bright,--

There revel in the fancies he hath wroght,--

Fancies more fair than May,--or morning light,--

Or solitary star awake at night,--

Or breath from Lovers' lips in kisses caught.

by John Hamilton Reynolds

Sonnet III On Robin Hood

With coat of Lincoln green and mantle too,

And horn of ivory mouth, and buckle bright,

And arrows wing'd with peacock-feathers light,

And trusty bow well gather'd of the yew,--

Stands Robin Hood: -- and near, with eyes of blue

Shining through dusk hair, like the stars of night,

A habited in pretty forest plight,--

His green-wood beauty sits, young as the dew.

by John Hamilton Reynolds

Sonnet II On Robin Hood

The trees in Sherwood forest are old and good,--

The grass beneath them now is dimly green;

Are they deserted all? Is no young mien

With loose-slung bugle met within the wood:

No arrow found, -- foil'd of its antler'd food,--

Struck in the oak's rude side? Is there nought seen,

To mark the revelries which there have been,--

In the sweet days of merry Robin Hood?

by John Hamilton Reynolds

Sonnet I On Robin Hood

Robin the outlaw! Is there not a mass

Of freedom in the name? -- It tells the story

Of clenched oaks, with branches bow'd and hoary,

Leaning in aged beauty o'er the grass;--

Of dazed smile on cheek of border lass

Listening 'gainst some old gate at his strange glory:

And of the dappled stag, struck down and gory,

Lying with nostril wide in green morass.

by John Hamilton Reynolds