Sonnet Poem by Charlotte Dacre

WHERE the hoarse billows rush upon the shore,
Where shrieks some screech-owl's melancholy voice,
Where the bleak winds in loud defiance roar,
Where horror reigns--that spot shall be my choice.

Oh, Sleep! kind soother of the grief-worn breast;
Oh, Health! bright jewel of the labouring hind;
Oh, Hope! dear cheerer of the mind distrest;
Oh, precious blessings! where may I ye find?

Hope, soft sustainer, whither art thou fled?
Oh, Laura! pour the balsam in my heart;
Then Sleep once more shall rest my aching head,
And blushing Health her cheering sweets impart.