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THE BOOK OF SONNETS.

THE

BOOK OF SONNETS.

“Scorn not the Sonnet ; Critic, you have frowned

Mindless of its just honours; with this Key
Shakespere unlocked his heart; the melody
Of this small Lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound;
A thousand times this Pipe did Tasso sound;
Camöens soothed with it an Exile's grief;
The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf
Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned
His visionary brow: a glow-worm 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!"

WORDS WORTH.

“Sundrie Flowers, bound up in one small Posie; gathered partly in fyue ontindish gardens; and partly out of our owne fruitefull orchardes in Englande.”

TITLE OF AN OLD BOOK OF POEMS.

EDITED BY A. MONTAGU WOODFORD.

Wall

LONDON:
SAUNDERS AND OTLEY, CONDUIT STREET.

1841.

58o.

LONDON: BLATCH AND LAMPERT, PRINTERS, GROVE PLACE, BROMPTON.

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