 | The battle of Niagara |  |
Gone is the madman's savage air—
His pale denouncing look is gone—
His port of sullen, calm despair—
And gone, indeed, the madman's tone!
His cheek burns fresh—his eye is bright,
And all his soul breaks forth in light!
His steps is buoyant, and his hair
Is lightly lifted by the air;
And o'er his reddening cheek, and eye,
Upraised in feverish ecstacy,
Is blown so carelessly, he seems
Some youthful spirit sent from high,
Clad in the glories of the sky—
With locks of living shade, that flow
About a brow of driven snow;
Or like the forms that pass at night,
Arrayed in blushing robes of light,
In Fancy's sunniest dreams.
His pale denouncing look is gone—
203
And gone, indeed, the madman's tone!
His cheek burns fresh—his eye is bright,
And all his soul breaks forth in light!
His steps is buoyant, and his hair
Is lightly lifted by the air;
And o'er his reddening cheek, and eye,
Upraised in feverish ecstacy,
Is blown so carelessly, he seems
Some youthful spirit sent from high,
Clad in the glories of the sky—
With locks of living shade, that flow
About a brow of driven snow;
Or like the forms that pass at night,
Arrayed in blushing robes of light,
In Fancy's sunniest dreams.
| The battle of Niagara | |