SONNET

TO THE CURLEW.

Sooth'd by the murmurs on the sea-beat shore
His dun grey plumage floating to the gale,
The curlew blends his melancholy wail
With those hoarse sounds the rushing waters pour.
Like thee, congenial bird: my steps explore
The bleak lone seabeach, or the rocky dale,
And shun the orange bower, the myrtle vale,
Whose gay luxuriance suits my soul no more.
I love the ocean's broad expanse, when dress'd
In limpid clearness, or when tempests blow.
When the smooth currents on its placid breast
Flow calm, as my past moments us'd to flow;
Or when its troubled waves refuse to rest,
And seem the symbol of my present wo.

"Our repasts were succeeded by the songs and dances of the two young
people. Virginia sang the happiness of pastoral life, and the misery of
those who were impelled, by avarice, to cross the furious ocean, rather
than cultivate the earth, and enjoy its peaceful bounties. Sometimes she
performed a pantomime with Paul, in the manner of the negroes. The first
language of man is pantomime; it is known to all nations, and is so natural
and so expressive, that the children of the European inhabitants catch it
with facility from the negroes. Virginia recalling, amongst the histories
which her mother had read to her, those which had affected her most,
represented the principal events with beautiful simplicity. Sometimes at