Elysium.—A Sonnet. The sun is burning in the rosy west, And, on the concave of the blue serene, Sailing along, two little clouds are seen, As if they felt their beauty, and were blest— Ah ! thus, within some lone and lovely dale, With gushing streams begirt, and leafy wood, Where day is calm, and evening solitude Is only broken by the nightingale ; Beloved ! in some summer bower with thee To rest unseen, to roam the flowery mead, To sit, at eve, beneath our threshold tree, Devoid of care, were paradise indeed ; And in each others arms together rest, Like yon two clouds that beautify the west.