Sonnet Written at Wootton, Kent

YE scenes, my melancholy soul that fill!

Where nature’s voice no crowds tumultuous drown,

And but through breaks of trees, the lawns that crown

The paths of men are seen; and farther still

Scarce peeps the city spire o’er many a hill;

Your green retreats, lone walks, and shadows brown,

While sheep feed round beneath the branches’ frown,

Shall calm my mind and holy thoughts instil.

What though with passion oft my trembling frame

Each real and each fancied wrong inflame,

Wandering alone I here my thoughts reclaim:

Resentment sinks; disgust within me dies;

And charity and meek forgiveness rise,

And melt my soul, and overflow my eyes.