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Seeking---nor yet with vulgar wish-to wield
Arms coldly lov'd---but in a Cause of Right-Content for that-light hours and love to yield,
Was it for this--sweet Night ?
Thou answerest not---but round thee, lo! the clouds
Are darkening into ire--the Moon is gone, And the ghost stars lie wan within their shrouds,
The storm sweeps labouring on !
Shine out---shine out, my true and stedfast soul-
from thee! Round earth's low heaven--the shade, the storm may roll,
Thou art a Heaven to Me!
Foes--and Life's baffled ends--the hydra birth
Of cares---upon thy front can stamp no frown, But on the shifts and phantoms of the earth
Thou with a smile look'st down!
THE VINDICATION OF SILENCE.
When heavens are bright, how stilly glide
The waters to the lulling air!
How can I break the silence there?
What are ye, haggard and all ghastly warnings-
roll. Without a cause the heart beats high and quick, And the blest breath grows labour-fraught and thick.
What are ye?—Phantoms of the brain ?—The crude
What! can these seerlike and unearthly shapes
What! to these wretched wants mst we fulfil
Can we not hold ev'n this most lean and
Nay!—have ye not been prophets in your strange
The hardest and the coldest breasts have thrilled As ye
have passed them on your ghostlike way; And in the hour ye whispered—have fulfilled Their doom :-Upon the dial of their clay Rested the shadowy hand, -and at the chime Foretold—they had no farther note of time !
We boast our growing wisdom !-Know we more
* Oracular is here used in the sense of dubious. + Socrates.
Avaunt-avaunt—what! yield we to your
cold And curdling grasp ?-Ye fool us with a power Which, like the Saga's muttered rhyme of old, Is built not on your potence, but on our Weakness. We crown you with grim thoughts, -and quake Before the very tyrants that we make.
Our Reason or whate'er that be—and how
And if we err, and darkling grope and vain,
Shadows avaunt !--were all the monsters armed
To lose all love, and murmur from the stars-o
IF THE POOR MADE LAWS FOR THE RICH.
If the poor made laws for the rich-the rich,
What a change in our jails would be!
Bring the most to the gallows tree?
For the fellows who idly roam ;
And Lord E—x be passed to--home.
And refuse a squire to bail;
And Sh-y would rot in jail !
The eyes of the mass they'd call; Murray's Review would be damnably fined,
And they'd ruin great Captain H-11.
Oneself from the public purse ;