Loud songs of triumph! O ye spirits of Fresh flowerets rose, and many a foodful But wan her cheek, her footsteps insecure, And anxious pleasure beamed in her faint eye, Such measures, as at calmest midnight As she had newly left a couch of pain, l'ale Convalescent! (yet some time to rule heard By aged hermit in his holy dream, Foretell and solace death; and now they rise Louder, as when with harp and mingled voice The white-robed multitude of slaughtered saints At Heaven's wide-opened portals gratulant Receive some martyr'd patriot. The harmony Entranced the Maid, till each suspended And nursed each plant that fair and virtuous grew. But soon a deep precursive sound moaned hollow: At length awakening slow, she gazed Black rose the clouds, and now (as in a around : Turned up fresh sculls unstartled, and the bones brow, Then o'er the plain with oft-reverted eye Of fierce hate-breathing combatants, Fled till a place of tombs she reached, who there 340 All mingled lay beneath the common earth, Death's gloomy reconcilement! O'er the fields and there Within a ruined sepulchre obscure Found hiding-place. The delegated Maid Stept a fair form, repairing all she Gazed through her tears, then in sad tones exclaimed ; might, she trod, Her temples olive-wreathed; and where Thou mild-eyed Form! wherefore, ah! wherefore fled? 370 The Power of Justice like a name all light, Shone from thy brow; but all they, who unblamed Dwelt in thy dwellings, call thee Happi ness. Ah! why, uninjured and unprofited, Should multitudes against their brethren rush? Why sow they guilt, still reaping misery? Lenient of care, thy songs, O Peace! are sweet, The congregated husbandmen lay waste The vineyard and the harvest. As along The Bothnic coast, or southward of the Line, Though hushed the winds and cloudless the high noon, Yet if Leviathan, weary of ease, As after showers the perfumed gale of And hence, for times and seasons bloody Save that with many an orgie strange But yonder look! for more demands thy and foul, Not more majestic stood the healing In will, in deed, Impulse of All to When from his bow the arrow sped that Whether thy Love with unrefracted ray slew And first a landscape rose More wild and waste and desolate than where The white bear, drifting on a field of ice, Howls to her sundered cubs with piteous rage Fierce merriment, and vengeance ask of And savage agony. 440 Heaven. Warmed with new influence, the un 1796. |
