That mindest me of many a pleasure gone,
Of merriest days, of love and Islington,
Kindling anew the flames of past desire;
And I shall muse on thee, slow journeying on,
To the green plains of pleasant Hertfordshire.

[Footnote: Drowsyhed I have met with I think in Spencer. Tis an old
thing, but it rhymes with led & rhyming covers a multitude of licences.]

The last line is a copy of Bowles's, "to the green hamlet in the
peaceful plain." Your ears are not so very fastidious--many people would
not like words so prosaic and familiar in a sonnet as Islington and
Hertfordshire. The next was written within a day or two of the last, on
revisiting a spot where the scene was laid of my 1st sonnet that "mock'd
my step with many a lonely glade."

When last I roved these winding wood-walks green,
Green winding walks, and pathways shady-sweet,
Oftimes would Anna seek the silent scene,
Shrouding her beauties in the lone retreat.
No more I hear her footsteps in the shade;
Her image only in these pleasant ways
Meets me self-wandring where in better days
I held free converse with my fair-hair'd maid.
I pass'd the little cottage, which she loved,
The cottage which did once my all contain:
it spake of days that ne'er must come again,
Spake to my heart and much my heart was moved.
"Now fair befall thee, gentle maid," said I,
And from the cottage turn'd me, with a sigh.