Thou mighty Poet, e'en to frenzy bold! "Tis of the rushing of a host in rout, [woundsWith groans of trampled men, with smarting At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence! [cold! And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd, With groans, and tremulous shudderings-all is over It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud! A tale of less affright, And tempered with delight, As Otway's self had framed the tender lay, "Tis of a little child Upon a lonesome wild, Not far from home, but she hath lost her way: And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear. VIII. 'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep: Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep! Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing, And may this storm be but a mountain-birth, May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling, Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth! With light heart may she rise, Gay fancy, cheerful eyes, Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice; ODE TO GEORGIANA, DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE, ON THE TWENTY 66 FOURTH STANZA IN HER PASSAGE OVER MOUNT GOTHARD. "And hail the chapel! hail the platform wild! With well strung arm, that first preserved his child, SP 'PLENDOUR'S fondly fostered child! Beneath the shaft of Tell! O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure! Light as a dream your days their circlets ran, With many a bright obtrusive form of art, Rich viands and the pleasurable wine, Were yours unearned by toil; nor could you see The unenjoying toiler's misery. And yet, free Nature's uncorrupted child, You hailed the chapel and the platform wild, Where once the Austrian fell Beneath the shaft of Tell! O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure, His forehead wreathed with lambent flame, A heart as sensitive to joy and fear? The sordid vices and the abject pains, The doom of ignorance and penury! Beneath the shaft of Tell! O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure! You were a mother! That most holy name, O I may not vilely prostitute to those You were a mother! at your bosom fed The babes that loved you. You, with laughing eye, Without the mother's bitter groans: By touch, or taste, by looks or tones O'er the growing sense to roll, The mother of your infant's soul! The Angel of the Earth, who, while he guides All trembling gazes on the eye of God, Blest intuitions and communions fleet With living Nature, in her joys and woes! O beautiful! O Nature's child! Beneath the shaft of Tell! O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure, ODE TO TRANQUILLITY. TR RANQUILLITY! thou better name Thou ne'er wilt leave my riper age To low intrigue, or factious rage; For oh dear child of thoughtful Truth, And left the bark, and blest the steadfast shore, Who late and lingering seeks thy shrine, Thy spirit rests! Satiety And Sloth, poor counterfeits of thee, To vex the feverish slumbers of the mind: But me thy gentle hand will lead At morning through the accustomed mead; And when the gust of Autumn crowds, And breaks the busy moonlight clouds, Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune, Light as the busy clouds, calm as the gliding moon. The feeling heart, the searching soul, And while within myself I trace The greatness of some future race, |