Sonett-Forum

As softest music when at evening hour
Awakes the grove, or in the ruin grey
Resounds amid the scenes of vanish'd pow'r
Is the melody of each beauteous lay,

Bearing the soul admiringly away
As on th' air harmonious sound is borne,
Lighting where'er expressive emblems stray
Of fading grandeur, or by time uptorn;

Never too high that the thought cannot reach,
Nor yet depress'd, but lowly, as to teach
What e'en the fairest Muse has o'er her thrown,
Then, as some orator ascends a hill
From which his voice th' encircling valleys fill,
Her genius its conccntr'd pow'r makes known.