I. TO MY BROTHER GEORGE.
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any the wonders I this day have seen:The sun, when first he kist away the tearsThat fill'd the eyes of morn;--the laurel'd peersWho from the feathery gold of evening lean:--The ocean with its vastness, its blue green,Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its fears,--Its voice mysterious, which whoso hearsMust think on what will be, and what has been.E'en now, dear George, while this for you I write,Cynthia is from her silken curtains peepingSo scantly, that it seems her bridal night,And she her half-discover'd revels keeping.But what, without the social thought of thee,Would be the wonders of the sky and sea?
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