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 | The Sylphs of the Seasons, with other poems |  |
That o'er thy teeming brain did raise
The spirits of departed days
Through all the varying year;
And images of things remote,
And sounds that long had ceas'd to float,
With every hue, and every note,
As living now they were:
The spirits of departed days
Through all the varying year;
And images of things remote,
And sounds that long had ceas'd to float,
With every hue, and every note,
As living now they were:
In a late beautiful poem by Mr. Montgomery is the following line: “The spirits of departed hours.” The Author, fearing that so singular a coincidence of thought and language might subject him to the charge of plagiarism, thinks it necessary to state, that his poem was written long before he had the pleasure of reading Mr. Montgomery's.
| The Sylphs of the Seasons, with other poems | |