The hurricane a theosophical and western eclogue. To which is subjoined, a solitary effusion in a summer's evening. By William Gilbert |
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 | The hurricane |  |
What is the cloudless sky to me? Nature's
Devellopt radiance and her thousand charms?
No heart joins mine: no kindred step with me
Winds the lone dingle, or pursues the track
Slow opening through the mazy thicket's shade:
None rests with me upon the verdant slope,
And runs his eye enraptured o'er the glade,
On to the distant sleeping stream, that walks
With slow and measured lapse, his round of ages
In the circling mead; saw the woad-painted
Briton; beheld, or bore, his sharp-scythed chariot;
Was oft dasht by the fierce arm that ruled it;
Yielded indignant to the new Roman;
Echoed with languid joy and presage sad
The desperate shouts of fainting Freedom,
As they rang from loud Caer-Caradoc amain,
And with their last rude crash shook every dale,
Rouzed each cot in vain; and has lived to hear
That song again from centuries of Death,
On Mason's lyre revived.
Devellopt radiance and her thousand charms?
No heart joins mine: no kindred step with me
Winds the lone dingle, or pursues the track
Slow opening through the mazy thicket's shade:
None rests with me upon the verdant slope,
And runs his eye enraptured o'er the glade,
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With slow and measured lapse, his round of ages
In the circling mead; saw the woad-painted
Briton; beheld, or bore, his sharp-scythed chariot;
Was oft dasht by the fierce arm that ruled it;
Yielded indignant to the new Roman;
Echoed with languid joy and presage sad
The desperate shouts of fainting Freedom,
As they rang from loud Caer-Caradoc amain,
And with their last rude crash shook every dale,
Rouzed each cot in vain; and has lived to hear
That song again from centuries of Death,
On Mason's lyre revived.
| The hurricane | |