XXVII

[Published in _The Gem: a Literary Annual_. London: W. Marshall,
Holborn Bars, mdcccxxxi.]

O sad _No more!_ O sweet _No more!_
O strange _No more!_
By a mossed brookbank on a stone
I smelt a wildweed flower alone;
There was a ringing in my ears,
And both my eyes gushed out with tears.
Surely all pleasant things had gone before,
Low-buried fathom deep beneath with thee,
NO MORE!




XXVIII

=Sonnet=

[Published in the _Englishman's Magazine_, August, 1831. London:
Edward Moxon, 64 New Bond Street. Reprinted in _Friendship's Offering:
a Literary Album_ for 1833. London; Smith and Elder.]

Check every outflash, every ruder sally