Sonnet Lii.

FAULTERING and sad the unhappy pilgrim roves, Who, on the eve of bleak December's night, Divided far from all he fondly loves, Journeys alone, along the giddy height Of these steep cliffs, and as the sun's last ray Fades in the West, sees, from the rocky verge, Dark tempests scowling o'er the shortened day, And hears, with ear appall'd, the impetuous surge Beneath him thunder!--So, with heart oppress'd, Alone, reluctant, desolate, and slow, By Friendship's cheering radiance now unblest, Along life's rudest path I seem to go; Nor see where yet the anxious heart may rest, That, trembling at the past--recoils from future woe.