The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Croly In Two Volumes |
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II. |
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III. |
IV. |
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VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
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XIII. |
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XV. |
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XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
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XXIII. |
XXIV. |
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XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
XL. |
XLI. |
XLII. |
XLIII. |
XLIV. |
XLV. |
XLVI. |
XLVII. |
XLVIII. |
XLIX. |
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LIII. |
LIV. |
The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Croly | ||
275
GENIUS BOUND.
Glorious Spirit! at whose birth
Joy might fill the conscious earth;
Yet her joy be dash'd with fear,
As at untold danger near;
A comet rising on her gloom,
Or to light her, or consume!
Joy might fill the conscious earth;
Yet her joy be dash'd with fear,
As at untold danger near;
A comet rising on her gloom,
Or to light her, or consume!
Beauty is upon thy brow!
Such sad beauty as the bow,
Child of shower and sunbeam, wears,
Waked, and vanishing, in tears;
Yet to its splendid moment given
Colours only lit by heaven.
Such sad beauty as the bow,
Child of shower and sunbeam, wears,
Waked, and vanishing, in tears;
Yet to its splendid moment given
Colours only lit by heaven.
276
Thou canst take the lightning's wings,
And see the deep forbidden things;—
With thy starry sandal tread
On the ocean's treasure bed;
Or make the rolling clouds thy throne;
Height and depth to thee are one!
And see the deep forbidden things;—
With thy starry sandal tread
On the ocean's treasure bed;
Or make the rolling clouds thy throne;
Height and depth to thee are one!
Prophet Spirit! thou canst sweep
Where the unborn nations sleep;
Or, from the ancient ages' shroud
To judgement call their sceptred crowd;
Earth has to thee nor birth, nor tomb—
Nor past, nor present, nor to come.
Where the unborn nations sleep;
Or, from the ancient ages' shroud
To judgement call their sceptred crowd;
Earth has to thee nor birth, nor tomb—
Nor past, nor present, nor to come.
Yet here thou sit'st, while earth and heaven
Are to thy radiant empire given.
Alas! I see the manacle!—
And all thy soul has felt the steel;
Thy wing of fire, thy beauty, vain—
For Genius dies beneath the chain!
Are to thy radiant empire given.
Alas! I see the manacle!—
And all thy soul has felt the steel;
Thy wing of fire, thy beauty, vain—
For Genius dies beneath the chain!
The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Croly | ||