 | Grouped thoughts and scattered fancies |  |
28
XXXV.
[AMBITION.]
ITS DANGERS.
Yet, is there danger, if, in that wild flight,That tongue forgets the spell-word! If the soul
Sinks in its terrors, and the aching sight
Grows dim and dizzy,—while the thunders roll,
And the clouds thicken! Bitter is the mock
Of those dark spirits, bred of elements,
That revel in the tempest, love its shock,
And glory in the extreme and the intense!
Hurl'd from their pinions down the eminence,
They flout the impotent spirit that would dare
Invoke the slaves it could not sway—assume
The wand of power that, waved aloft, would scare
The soul of its usurper! Dread the doom,
If heart, and voice, and eye, fail in that hour of gloom!
| Grouped thoughts and scattered fancies | |