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 |  |
Tell me, ye Gentle and ye Graceful, tell—
Tell me, ye Chaste, yet not averse from Love—
Tell me, ye Great, who guarded all these Fair,
And make the lofty Groves of Love, that tower
In Zenith Air, terrific to the vain;
As all within was mild, serene and pure—
Tell me, who most have ravaged your retreats;
Who worst your secret delicacies wound,
And boldest all your hidden depths profane?
Which age is vile, the Gothic, or Refined?
Tell me, ye Chaste, yet not averse from Love—
Tell me, ye Great, who guarded all these Fair,
And make the lofty Groves of Love, that tower
In Zenith Air, terrific to the vain;
As all within was mild, serene and pure—
Tell me, who most have ravaged your retreats;
Who worst your secret delicacies wound,
And boldest all your hidden depths profane?
Which age is vile, the Gothic, or Refined?
| The hurricane | |