 | Poems by Hartley Coleridge |  |
276
STATIUS, LIB. I.493.
His chilly lips hard closing at the sight,His every member grueing with delight,
At once by tokens manifest he spies
That they are here, whom quaintly twisted plies
277
Inspired by Phœbus, named his sons-in-law,
In form of beasts foreshown. With palms outspread
Towards the sky, in awful accent said
The king illumined: Thou, whose compass dread
And universal empire dost contain
Both heaven and earth and all their woe and pain;
Night, that transmittest stellar influence
With manifold illapse to heal the sense
Of weary mortals by a kind renewing,
Till Titan bid them to be up and doing:
At last in happy hour thou bring'st to me
The truth long sought in sore perplexity,—
Reveal'st the principles of Destiny.
Aid but the work, and make the omen sure,
From age to age thy rites shall still endure.
Yon house shall honour thee, O reverend Night!
With sable victims and drink-offerings white
Of purest milk. The hallow'd flame shall sup
The liquid gifts and eat the entrails up.
Hail secret place, all hail thou seat divine,
Mysterious symbol of the dreadful Trine!
| Poems by Hartley Coleridge | |