Supposed to have been written in America. <br /> <br />ILL-omen'd bird! whose cries portentous float <br />O'er yon savannah with the mournful wind; <br />While, as the Indian hears your piercing note, <br />Dark dread of future evil fills his mind; <br />Wherefore with early lamentation break <br />The dear delusive visions of repose? <br />Why from so short felicity awake <br />My wounded senses to substantial woes? <br />O'er my sick soul thus rous'd from transient rest, <br />Pale Superstition sheds her influence drear, <br />And to my shuddering fancy would suggest <br />Thou com'st to speak of ev'ry woe I fear, <br />Ah! Reason little o'er the soul prevails, <br />When, from ideal ill, the enfeebled spirit fails!<br /><br />Charlotte Smith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lxi-3/
