Sonnet

When last I roved these winding wood walks green;
Green winding walks, and shady pathways sweet,
Oft-times would Anna seek the silent scene,
Shrouding her beauties in the lone retreat.
No more I hear her footsteps in the shade;
Her image only in these pleasant ways
Meets me self-wandering, where, in happier days,
I held free converse with the fair-hair'd maid.
I pass'd the little cottage which she loved,
It spake of days which ne'er must come again;
Spake to my heart, and much my heart was moved.
"Now fair befall thee, gentle maid!" said I
And from the cottage turn'd me with a sigh.

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