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The Call.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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The Call.

I

Peace ye imperious Charms of Love,
Peace ye sweet Syrens of the Air,
Not all your melting Notes can move
My fleeting Soul, or keep it here.

39

II

Diviner Eccho's bid me go
To the refreshing Fields of Light,
Altho' the Air is gross below,
Yet nothing shall retard my flight.

III

Lo! now I mount, and as I rise,
Successive Scenes of new Delight
Prepare my weaker Mortal Eyes
To gaze on the Eternal Light.