The bard, and minor poems By John Walker Ord ... Collected and edited by John Lodge |
 |
|
| I. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. | IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
 | II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
|
|
 | The bard, and minor poems |  |
IV.
The man of pride—the stately man—What is he, when grief's death-winds blow?
He, who through thousand tempests ran,
Now sadly droops in tearful woe.
Amid the chambers of the brain,
The waves of death in terror flow;
Like eagles stricken to the plain,
Lies Fancy and her champions low.
8
And bloodshot with the tears of blood;
Whilst shapes of hell and tempest rise,
And haunt its spectral solitude.
Thus, like a lute's harmonious dreaming,
When heaven and all its winds are still,
On some lake-side, melodious streaming,
Angelic notes o'er grove and hill.
Some chord is broke,—no more the wind
Bears dulcet music on the ear;
So, with the fibres of the mind
Unstrung, they murmur of the bier.
| The bard, and minor poems | |