CORN not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frou ned,
Mindless of its just honours; with this key

Shakespeare unlocked his heart; the melody
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound;
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound;
With it Camoens soothed an exile's grief;
The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle-leaf
Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned
His visionary brow; a glowworm lamp,

It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-land
To struggle through dark ways; and, when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand

The Thing became a trumpet; whence he blew
Soul-animating strains—alas, too few!

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

ENGLISH SONNETS.

EASTER MORNING.

|OST glorious Lord of life! that, on this day,
Didst make thy triumph over death and sin;
And, having harrowed hell, didst bring away
Captivity thence captive, us to win :

This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin;
And grant that we, for whom Thou diddest die,
Being with thy dear blood clean washed from sin,
May live for ever in felicity :

And that thy love we weighing worthily,

May likewise love Thee for the same again;
And for thy sake, that all like dear didst buy,
With love may one another entertain!

So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought;
Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.

B