 | The Descent of Liberty |  |
82
EPILOGUE. POETA LOQUITUR.
'Tis done. The vision from my fancy's eyeFades, gleam by gleam, into the closing sky;
And the far sounds, touching from sphere to sphere
With upward lessening, baffle the fix'd ear.
But not directly does the earthly chain,
That holds me here, come closing round again;
Not instantly the darkening wall comes nigh;
The brighten'd spot yet breathes of Liberty;
The fine and holier circle charms me still,
Drawn by the quickness of the Muse's quill;
And Silence, listening as at dead of night,
Sits with her finger up, hushing Delight.
THE END.
| The Descent of Liberty | |