Forgets the mimic thunders of the day, Nor envies Luxury her bed of down. Rock'd by the blast, and cabin'd in the storm, The sailor hugs thee to the doddering mast, Of shipwreck negligent, while thou art kind. The captive's freedom, thou! the labourer's hire; The beggar's store; the miser's better gold; The health of Sickness; and the youth of Age! At thy approach the wrinkled front of Care Subsides into the smooth expanse of smiles. And, stranger far! the monarch, crown'd by thee, Beneath his weight of glory gains repose.
What guilt is mine, that I alone am wake, E'en though my eyes are seal'd, am wake alone? Ah! seal'd, but not by thee! the world is dumb; Exhaled by air, an awful silence rules, Still as thy brother's reign, or foot of time; E'en nightingales are mute, and lovers rest, Steep'd in thy influence, and cease to sigh, Or only sigh in slumbers. Fifteen nights The moon has walk'd in glory o'er the sky; As oft the Sun has shone her from the sphere, Since, gentle Sleep, I felt thy cordial dews. Then listen to my moaning; nor delay
To soothe me with thy softness; to o'ershade Thy suppliant with thy pinions: or at least Lightly to touch my temples with thy wand.
So, full and frequent, may the crimson fields With poppies blush, nor feel a Tarquin's hand. So may the west winds sigh, the murmuring brook, The melody of birds, Ianthe's lute,
And music of the spheres, be all the sounds That dare intrude on thy devoted hour. Nor Boreas bluster, nor the thunder roar, Nor screechowl flap his wing, nor spirit yell,
As 'neath the trembling of the moon he walks, Within the circle of thy still domain. He comes! he comes! the reconciling Power Of pain, vexation, care, and anguish comes! He hovers in the lazy air:-He melts, With honey heaviness, my senses down.
THOUGH, at their visual entrance quite shut out, External forms, forbidden, mount the winds, Retire to chaos, or with night commix;
Yet, Fancy's mimic work, ten thousand shapes, Antic and wild, rush sweeping o'er my dreams, Irregular and new; as pain or ease
The spirits teach to flow, and in the brain Direction diverse hold: gentle and bright As hermits, sleeping in their mossy cells, Lull'd by the fall of waters! by the rills From Heliconian cliffs devolved; or where, Thy ancient river, Kishon, sacred stream! Soft murmurs on their slumbers: peace within, And conscience, e'en to ecstasy sublimed And beatific vision. Sudden, black, And horrible as murderers; or hags,
Their lease of years spun out, and bloody bond Full flashing on their eyes; the gulf, beneath, Maddening with gloomy fires; and heaven, behind, With all her golden valves for ever closed.
Now in Elysium lapp'd, and lovely scenes, Where honeysuckles rove, and eglantines, Narcissus, jessamin, pinks, profusely wild, In every scented gale Arabia breathe:
As blissful Eden fair; the morning work Of Heaven, and Milton's theme! where Innocence Smiled and improved the prospect.-Now, anon, By Isis' favourite flood supinely laid,
In tuneful indolence, behold the bards (Harps in each hand, and laurel on each brow), A band of demigods, august to sight, In venerable order sweetly rise,
(The Muses sparkling round them) who have trod In measured pace its banks, for ever green, Enamel'd from their feet! Harmonious notes, Warbled to Doric reeds, to Lesbian lyres, Or Phrygian minstrelsy, steal on the ear Enamour'd with variety: and loud The trumpet's shrilling clangors fill the sky With silver melody.-Now, happier still! Round thy Italic cloisters, musing slow, Or in sweet converse with thy letter'd sons, Philosophers and poets and divines,
Enjoy the sacred walk, delighted, Queen's*! Where Addison and Tickell lay inspired, Inebriated from the classic springs,
And tuned to various-sounding harps the song, Sublime or tender, humorous or grave, Quaffing the Muses' nectar to their fill. Where Smith in hoary reverence presides (Crown'd with the snow of virtue for the skies), With graceful gravity and gentle sway; With perfect peace encircled and esteem. Whose mild and bright benevolence of soul, By reason cool, and by religion warm, And generous passion for the college weal, More than a Muse inspire.-Momental bliss! For sudden rapt, the midnight howl of wolves,
* Queen's College in Oxford.
The dragon's yell, the lion's roar astound My trembling ear. Ha! down a burning mount I plunge deep, deep: sure Vulcan's shop is here— Hark, how the anvils thunder round the dens Flammivomous! What? are those chains to bind This skeleton! the Cyclops must be mad: Those bolts of steel, those adamantine links Demand Typhoeus' strength to burst.-Away— Venus and Mars-beware.-In giddy whirls I ride the blast, and towering through the storm Enjoy the palace of the morn. The Sun Resigns the reins of Phlegon to my hands: His mane waves fire: he scorches me to dust: Avaunt, thou fiend!-I'll hurl thee down the deep Of heaven, with bolted thunder, and enwrapp'd With forky lightning. Now staggering I reel, By murderers pursued: my faithless feet Scarce shift their pace: or down rushing amain, I cease to recollect my steps, and roll Passive on earth.-Sure, 'twas Astolpho's horn Pour'd on my ear the' annoying blast: at which Rogero trembled, Bradamant grew pale, And into air dissolved the' enchanted dome. Now starting from this wilderness of dreams,
I wake from fancied into real woe.
Pain empties all her vials on my head,
And steeps me o'er and o'er. The' envenom'd shirt Of Hercules enwraps my burning limbs With dragon's blood: I rave and roar like him, Writhing in agony. Devouring fires Eat up the marrow, frying in my bones. O whither, whither shall I turn for aid?
THAT sage hath never laid on Fancy's lap His charmed head, by sweet ideal sounds Of melody entranced, who deems the sense Of conscious life in gentle slumber lost! Who, yielding up himself to stealing sleep As to a sad necessity, beholds
Elate the dawnlight's golden glimmering streak His curtain'd couch; then springs impatient forth, And boasts he feels existence. But to me Sweet is the trance of slumber: sweet the' escape From life's realities to fancy's world
Of vision'd happiness: the throbs of hope, The smiles of rapture; voices breathing love, Delightful shapes, and scenes of faery land; To memory's pleasures and the fleeting joys That seem'd for ever flown; but nightly wing Their backward flight, and hover o'er my brow. Such recognitions vivid and soul-felt,
The work of wonder-shaping intellect,
Wake when the body sleeps. No day-dream wild On river-brink, beneath the beech tree's gloom, Can with such clear distinctness to the soul Picture the groups of faded bliss; or call Such light aerial phantasies of joy
To float around the brain. Thou lovely moon, Companion of my bed! I would invoke Thy influence; now from ocean's trembling verge Lift thy full orb, that reddening through the woods Gleams like a sanguine shield; till slow it climbs, And lessens as it climbs; and, hovering high In the blue calm of ether, sheds abroad
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