Sonnet 3 (Not to thee, Bedford! mournful is the tale)

Not to thee, Bedford! mournful is the taleOf days departed. Time in his careerArraigns not thee that the neglected yearHas past unheeded onward. To the valeOf years thou journiest; may the future roadBe pleasant as the past! and on my friendFriendship and Love, best blessings! still attend'Till full of days he reach the calm abodeWhere Nature slumbers. Lovely is the ageOf Virtue: with such reverence we beholdThe silver hairs, as some grey oak grown oldThat whilome mock'd the rushing tempest's rage,Now like the monument of strength decayedWith rarely-sprinkled leaves casting a trembling shade.1794.