Sonnet V To The South Downs

AH! hills beloved!--where once, a happy child,

Your beechen shades, 'your turf, your flowers among,'

I wove your blue-bells into garlands wild,

And woke your echoes with my artless song.

Ah! hills beloved!--your turf, your flowers remain;

But can they peace to this sad breast restore,

For one poor moment soothe the sense of pain,

And teach a breaking heart to throb no more?

And you, Aruna!--in the vale below,

As to the sea your limpid waves you bear

Can you one kind Lethean cup bestow,

To drink a long oblivion to my care?

Ah! no!--when all, e'en Hope's last ray is gone,

There's no oblivion--but in death alone!