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Prologue.
PETER BELL.
11
These given, what more need I desire,
To stir—to sooth—or elevate?
What nobler marvels than the mind
May in life's daily prospect find,
May find or there create?
A potent wand doth Sorrow wield;
What spell so strong as guilty Fear!
Repentance is a tender sprite;
If aught on earth have heavenly might,
'Tis lodg'd within her silent tear.
But grant my wishes,—let us now
Descend from this ethereal height;
Then take thy way, adventurous Skiff,
More daring far than Hippogriff,
And be thy own delight!
