Sonnet Written in the church-Yard at Middleton 
Pressed by the moonmute arbitress of tides
While the loud equinox its power combines
The sea no more the swelling surge confines
But o'er the shrinking land sublimely rides.
The wild blastrising from the western cave
Drives the huge billows from their heaving bed;
Tears from their grassy tomb the village dead,
And breaks the silent sabbath of the grave
With shells and seaweed mingled, on the shore
Lotheir bones whiten in the frequent wave
But vain to them the winds and waters rave
They hear the warring elements no more:
While I am doomedby life's long storm oppressed,
To gaze with envy on their gloomy rest.


 
