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SONNET VIII.
Porlock, thy verdant vale so fair to sight,
Thy lofty hills with fern and furze so brown,
The waters that so musical roll down
Thy woody glens, the traveller with delight
Recalls to memory, and the channel grey
Circling its surges in thy level bay,
Porlock, I also shall forget thee not;
Here by the unwelcome summer rain confined;
And often shall hereafter call to mind
How here, a patient prisoner, 'twas my lot
To wear the lonely, lingering close of day,
Making my Sonnet by the alehouse fire,
Whilst Idleness and Solitude inspire
Dull rhymes to pass the duller hours away.
Thy lofty hills with fern and furze so brown,
The waters that so musical roll down
Thy woody glens, the traveller with delight
Recalls to memory, and the channel grey
Circling its surges in thy level bay,
Porlock, I also shall forget thee not;
Here by the unwelcome summer rain confined;
And often shall hereafter call to mind
How here, a patient prisoner, 'twas my lot
To wear the lonely, lingering close of day,
Making my Sonnet by the alehouse fire,
Whilst Idleness and Solitude inspire
Dull rhymes to pass the duller hours away.
August 9, 1799.
