University of Virginia Library


148

How oft some spirit deign'd, from blissful bow'rs,
With dreams of thee to charm my sleeping hours!
Thoughts not my own, still whisper'd soft and clear,
As songs of seraphs to th' unsensual ear,
With kind delusion cur'd my waking pains,
Whether 'mid deaths I slept on tented plains;
Or tir'd with travel on some desert steep,
Or rock'd in cradles of the roaring deep;
Or when my sails at crafty courts were furl'd,
In many a region of this restless world.