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Rocking on the billowy air,
As blows the blast with many a sudden swell,
That veils its genius from the vulgar eye:
The spirit of the water rides the storm, And, through the mist, reveals the terrors of his form.
O'er solid seas, where Winter reigns,
By glistering star-light through the snow,
And, while the panting tigress hies
Smit by the scorchings of the noontide beam.
She hurls the torch! she fans the fire!
To die is to be blest:
She clasps her lord to part no more,
And, wrapt in clouds, in tempests tost,
While the lone shepherd, near the shipless main," Sees o'er her hills advance the long-drawn funeral train.
Thou spak'st, and, lo! a new creation glowed.
And at its base the trembling nations bowed.
Circled with seats of bliss, the Lord of Light
And braves the efforts of a host of years.
Sweet Music breathes her soul into the wind; And bright-eyed Painting stamps the image of the mind.
Round the rude ark old Egypt's sorcerers rise!
With lowings loud the captive god replies.
But, ah! what myriads claim the bended knee! 10
What eye those long, long labyrinths dare explore, To which the parted soul oft wings her flight; Again to visit her cold cell of clay,
Charmed with perennial sweets, and smiling at decay?
On yon hoar summit, mildly bright la
High o'er the world, the white-robed Magi gaze
Wake, Echo, wake and catch the song,
The Sibyl speaks, the dream is o'er,
And moulds the features of her soul,
The cavern frowns; its hundred mouths unclose!
And, in the thunder's voice, the fate of empire flows!
Mona, thy Druid-rites awake the dead!
Rites that have chained old Ocean on his bed.
Shivered by thy piercing glance,
Thy magic bids the imperial eagle fly,15 And blasts the laureate wreath of victory. Hark, the bard's soul inspires the vocal string! At every pause dread Silence hovers o'er: While murky Night sails round on raven wing, Deepening the tempest's howl, the torrent's roar; Chased by the Morn from Snowdon's awful brow, Where late she sate and scowled on the black wave below.
Lo! steel-clad War his gorgeous standard rears!
And mow through infancy and age;
Then kiss the sacred dust and melt in tears.
Veiling from the eye of day,
Penance dreams her life away;
In cloistered solitude she sits and sighs,
Beyond this nether sphere, on Rapture's wing of fire.
Lord of each pang the nerves can feel, Hence with the rack and reeking wheel. Faith lifts the soul above this little ball!
While gleams of glory open round,
Flushed with youth, her looks impart
Each fine feeling as it flows; Her voice the echo of a heart
Pure as the mountain snows:
Shrinking from her glance in vain.
Her touch unlocks the day-spring from above,
And, lo! it visits man with beams of light and love.