 | The battle of Niagara |  |
Something—but what was never known:
Something had pressed his pulses down:
Blasted the verdure of his spring:
Shorn the gay plumage of his wing:
Silenced his harp, and stilled his lyre:
Heaped snow upon his bosom's fire—
And caught away the wreath of flame,
That hovered o'er his youthful name;
Obscured his sun—and wrapped the throne
Where glory in her jewels shone,
For ever from his searching gaze:
And, on his brain, in lightning traced
The suffering of his youthful days:
Where Madness had with clouds erased
The characters, that Rapture placed
Upon his heart and soul in blaze!
Something had pressed his pulses down:
Blasted the verdure of his spring:
Shorn the gay plumage of his wing:
Silenced his harp, and stilled his lyre:
Heaped snow upon his bosom's fire—
And caught away the wreath of flame,
That hovered o'er his youthful name;
Obscured his sun—and wrapped the throne
Where glory in her jewels shone,
188
And, on his brain, in lightning traced
The suffering of his youthful days:
Where Madness had with clouds erased
The characters, that Rapture placed
Upon his heart and soul in blaze!
| The battle of Niagara | |