 | The Outcast, and other poems |  |
144
SONNET.
Tell me ye viewless spirits of the air,Wh osteal upon the soul with silent wing,
Seeming to wake as with its breath, a string
That yields wild melody, all hidden there—
Tell me if ye are visions from the tomb,
Or dreams awaked by wizard fancy's call,
Or ministers of ill, released from thrall,
In robes of light, to tempt us to our doom?
Or messengers of peace from regions blest,
On mercy's errand stooping from above?
Or friends departed, drawn by lingering love
To whisper weal or warning to the breast?
Ye have no voice to answer, but the eye
Doth trace your homeward pathway to the sky!
| The Outcast, and other poems | |