 | Grouped thoughts and scattered fancies |  |
XXXV.
AMBITION.
Descend, ye dark brow'd ministers of thought,Ye that are of the mountains! In your shapes,
Gigantic, I discern great shadows, wrought
Like those which to my eyes have risen unsought,
In midnight visions, and my soul escapes,
Joyful, triumphant,—borne aloft, along
Your gloomy dwellings of the crag, with song,
Whose thunder-tones have riven it, and yet roll,
Subsiding, o'er the steeps of each far hill,
That feels the ample voice and trembles still!
Descend, ye glorious phantoms, vast and strong!
Proud agents of the swift and sleepless soul,
Whose ceaseless longings, not to be control'd,
Toil for the mighty eminence ye hold.
| Grouped thoughts and scattered fancies | |