Three Sonnets Poem by Robert Alves

What grievous ills our daily patience prove!
A prince's frown grieves him that longs for power;
Dry slumbers grieve the swain that prays a shower;
But most grieves me, the frown of her I love!
As early larks mount high to hail the dawn;
As waiting levees crowd the great man's gate;
So all my longing thoughts impatient wait,
Till Delia's presence bless the flow'ry lawn!
When she appears, my eyes with rapture glow;
My heart beats high with transports all refin'd;
Methinks some vision of celestial kind,
Hath come to make a heaven on earth below!
She speaks: — the nymphs a modest silence keep!
She sings: — the warbling groves are hush'd and still!
No more is heard the thrush or woodlark's trill,
And a deep calm o'erspreads the listening deep!
No other shepherdess like her can charm!
More heavenly-good, or more excelling-fair!
Her smiles alone can soften all my care!
And my sad breast with endless rapture warm!

As angry storms still vex the murmuring deep,
As weeping dews still fall from evening-skies,
So ne'er shall cease my heart with woe to weep,
Or briny tears to fill my mournful eyes!
Then why should I so fondly-foolish prize
Or aught in Love's or Fortune's fickle train!
Since these are changeful as the rolling main,
More brittle than the reed that breaks in twain,
More vain than autumn's leaf that quivering flies
The sport of winds! — so vain are all my joys!
Poor wretch, thus doom'd to Sorrow's endless tear!
Full sad the woes that must for ever flow,
Till life's fair light itself I last forego,
And all my joys and woes lie buried in the bier!

I dream'd that Love had bless'd my humble bower!
I dream'd that Fortune had at last been kind:
Alas! 'twas but a dream: — my golden store,
And lovely mistress dear, I no where find!
I wake with anguish, grieve my pensive mind,
To see my golden dreams with darkness fly;
Nor bear the look of day now beaming high!
—Me woeful wight! what now shall soothe my heart,
Thus left with empty pouch, and scanty bread?
While all my airy dreams, far off, depart,
And want and penury hang o'er my head?
Why, lo! — I weep all day, and wait the night;
Then wrap me in my pallet, dreaming still
Of lovely mistress kind, while guineas fill
My purse; thus then I'm happy till returning light!