Sonnet Xxxii. To Melancholy

Written on the banks of the Arun, Oct. 1785. WHEN latest Autumn spreads her evening veil, And the grey mists from these dim waves arise, I love to listen to the hollow sighs, Through the half-leafless wood that breathes the gale: For at such hours the shadowy phantom, pale, Oft seems to fleet before the poet's eyes; Strange sounds are heard, and mournful melodies, As of night wanderers, who their woes bewail Here, by his native stream, at such an hour, Pity's own Otway I methinks could meet, And hear his deep sighs swell the sadden'd wind! O Melancholy!--such thy magic power, That to the soul these dreams are often sweet, And sooth the pensive visionary mind!