Page:Halleck.djvu/333

In thundering “lofty-low” by Shiell,
Or mad Maturin’s mock-heroics.

Away with passion’s withering kiss,
A purer spell be thine to win us;
Unlock the fount of holiness
While gentle Pity weeps in bliss,
And hearts throb sweetly sad within us.

Or call those smiles again to thee
That shone upon the lip that won them,
Like sun-drops on a summer-sea,
When waters ripple pleasantly
To wanton winds that flutter o’er them.

When Pity wears her willow-wreath,
Let Desdemona’s woes be seen;
Sweet Beverly’s confiding faith,
Or Juliet, loving on in death,
Or uncomplaining Imogen.

When wit and mirth their temples bind
With thistle-shafts o’erhung with flowers,
Then quaint and merry Rosalind,
Beatrice with her April mind
And Dinah’s simple heart be ours.

For long thy modest orb has been
Eclipsed by heartless, cold parade;