A Spenserian sonnet, signed "M." Eighteen months earlier "M" had contributed a "Sonnet in imitation of Spenser" in two quatrains which, like this poem, relies on cliches to an extent that suggests burlesque. This is only the third Spenserian sonnet in three decades to appear in the European Magazine, which published sonnets in most every number.
Now evening her dusky shades spreads wide,
And gloomy silence reigns around supreme,
Save when the night's pale goddess, silver-ey'd,
Impearls the pensile dew-drop with her beam.
And from yon ruin, with discordant scream,
The "moping owl" awakens Echo's pow'rs,
While the brisk breeze impels the languid stream,
Or Zephyr wantons playful 'mong the flow'rs.
Or from the copse sweet Philomela pours
In plaintive strains her love-forsaken theme;
Mourns o'er her sorrows, and her lot deplores,
Once cheer'd, like mine, by Hope's illusive gleam.
But now Fate's murky clouds obscure the skies,
And the bright sun of bliss is set, no more to rise!