 | The powers of genius |  |
AN ADDRESS TO MY TAPER.
My Taper lend thy glimmering ray,
O give me all thy little light!
Departed is the orb of Day,
And o'er the city falls the night.
O give me all thy little light!
Departed is the orb of Day,
And o'er the city falls the night.
The bustle of the passing throng,
The chariot rattling by the door,
The loud and boisterous vender's song,
Strike on my startling ear no more.
The chariot rattling by the door,
The loud and boisterous vender's song,
Strike on my startling ear no more.
Now gathering storms the sky o'erspread,
And sweep with ruffian-blasts the plain,
Now on my window and my shed,
Descends the chill and beating rain.
And sweep with ruffian-blasts the plain,
Now on my window and my shed,
Descends the chill and beating rain.
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Protected from the angry sky,
Bless'd with the smile of kind repose,
Still may I know Compassion's sigh,
And keenly feel for others woes.
Bless'd with the smile of kind repose,
Still may I know Compassion's sigh,
And keenly feel for others woes.
And such a night old legends tell,
(While lowering clouds the sky o'ercast,)
Aerial beings pour their yell,
And spread their pinions to the blast.
(While lowering clouds the sky o'ercast,)
Aerial beings pour their yell,
And spread their pinions to the blast.
On such a night did Shakspeare hear,
His Ariel singing his wild strains,
On such a night his listening ear,
Heard spirits chaunting on the plains.
His Ariel singing his wild strains,
On such a night his listening ear,
Heard spirits chaunting on the plains.
O then, on this enchanting page,
My taper, throw thy friendly beam....
And let me mark the long-past age,
And rove along Ilyssu's stream.
My taper, throw thy friendly beam....
And let me mark the long-past age,
And rove along Ilyssu's stream.
O let me catch that matchless song,
Which comes from old Achaia's lyre,
And wafted to the Olympic throng,
Bask in the blaze of Pindar's fire.
Which comes from old Achaia's lyre,
And wafted to the Olympic throng,
Bask in the blaze of Pindar's fire.
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How fast thy slender form decays!
Still, still a little longer stay;
Now in the socket falls thy blaze....
It flutters, and it dies away.
Still, still a little longer stay;
Now in the socket falls thy blaze....
It flutters, and it dies away.
How like thy dim and dying flame,
The sons of Genius and of lore!
Whose souls too ardent for their frame,
Burn till their pulse can beat no more.
The sons of Genius and of lore!
Whose souls too ardent for their frame,
Burn till their pulse can beat no more.
| The powers of genius | |