SONNET [41] XLI. To Tranquillity.

SONNET [41] XLI. To Tranquillity.

IN this tumultuous sphere, for thee unfit, How seldom art thou found — Tranquillity! Unless 'tis when with mild and downcast eye, By the low cradles, thou delight'st to sit, Of sleeping infants — watching the soft breath, And bidding the sweet slumb'rers easy lie; Or sometimes hanging o'er the bed of death, Where the poor languid suff'rer — hopes to die. Oh! beauteous sister of the halcyon Peace! I sure shall find thee in that heav'nly scene Where Care and Anguish shall their pow'r regin; Where Hope alike, and vain Regret shall cease; And Memory — lost in happiness serene, Repeat no more — that misery has been mine!