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 |  |
Here, too, are haunts of Love, as well as grand
And rudest Wisdom's darkest, drear domains.
Groves were sacred once to Love: once were heard,
Low murmuring through the many-turtled shades
Of Peace, respondent sighs, or liveliest notes
Of placid and accordant Love, that mixed
Airs with the Zephyr, whispers with the sacred grove.
Long husht to sullen silence, Groves no more
Echo to human Loves; the Loves refined,
Or antient minstrels sung, of Dryad or
Of Naiad, or perchance of human Maid
From cottage or from palace; or of Gods,
From halls of light descending to the plain,
Unconscious of a change; nor so immixt,
Can learned retrospection trace distinct,
The Nymph, the Goddess or terrestrial Maid.
And rudest Wisdom's darkest, drear domains.
Groves were sacred once to Love: once were heard,
Low murmuring through the many-turtled shades
Of Peace, respondent sighs, or liveliest notes
Of placid and accordant Love, that mixed
Airs with the Zephyr, whispers with the sacred grove.
Long husht to sullen silence, Groves no more
Echo to human Loves; the Loves refined,
Or antient minstrels sung, of Dryad or
Of Naiad, or perchance of human Maid
From cottage or from palace; or of Gods,
From halls of light descending to the plain,
Unconscious of a change; nor so immixt,
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The Nymph, the Goddess or terrestrial Maid.
| The hurricane | |