The Poetical Works of James Gates Percival With a biographical sketch |
 | 1. |
 |
|
|
|
|
[Spirit of high and mighty souls!] |
|
|
| 2. |
 | The Poetical Works of James Gates Percival |  |
[Spirit of high and mighty souls!]
Spirit of high and mighty souls!
Thine is the darkly hovering cloud,
Deep in whose heart the thunder rolls,
With a murmuring echo long and loud;
Thine the gulf where the cataract pours
With a sudden rush its emerald tide;
Thine the height where the eagle soars,
And the winds in their stormy chariots ride:
Thine is the darkly hovering cloud,
Deep in whose heart the thunder rolls,
With a murmuring echo long and loud;
Thine the gulf where the cataract pours
With a sudden rush its emerald tide;
Thine the height where the eagle soars,
And the winds in their stormy chariots ride:
Thine the unbounded world of waves,
Bursting aloft with fiery foam;
Thine the fearless bark, that braves
Danger and death on its ocean home;
Thine the mountains that gird the pole,
Wreathed like a starry crown of light,—
These are the haunts of the mighty soul,—
Thither it bends its daring flight.
Bursting aloft with fiery foam;
Thine the fearless bark, that braves
Danger and death on its ocean home;
Thine the mountains that gird the pole,
Wreathed like a starry crown of light,—
These are the haunts of the mighty soul,—
Thither it bends its daring flight.
But by the side of the hidden spring
Shaded with newly-budding flowers,
Where the butterfly floats on its filmy wing,
And the rose breathes sweetlier after showers;
But in the cool, sequestered shade,
At the lonely foot of a wooded hill,
Where a low and pleasing din is made
By the dash of the brook at the village mill;
Shaded with newly-budding flowers,
Where the butterfly floats on its filmy wing,
And the rose breathes sweetlier after showers;
But in the cool, sequestered shade,
At the lonely foot of a wooded hill,
Where a low and pleasing din is made
By the dash of the brook at the village mill;
But in the colored sky at even,
When the glorious tints are fading away,
And shapes like the missioned spirits of heaven
Round the top of the gilded forest play;
But by the sweep of the silent river,
Where its waters in gentle stillness roll,
Like the tides of eternity, ruffled never;—
O, these are the haunts of the tender soul.
When the glorious tints are fading away,
And shapes like the missioned spirits of heaven
Round the top of the gilded forest play;
340
Where its waters in gentle stillness roll,
Like the tides of eternity, ruffled never;—
O, these are the haunts of the tender soul.
| The Poetical Works of James Gates Percival | |