74
In anguish I resisted; but a spell
Hung o'er me and compell'd me to be mute.
Hung o'er me and compell'd me to be mute.
Methinks I still behold him! tall and fair,
He had a look so tranquil and so mild,
That something holy stole upon the sense
When he appear'd; his language had such power
In converse, that the hearer, as entranc'd
Sate lingering on to listen; while in song,
Or skill upon the many-stringed harp
Was never heard his equal! Then he knew
All our old ballads, all our father's tales,
All the adventurous deeds of early times,
The punishment of blood or sacrilege,
And the reward of virtue, when it seem'd
Deserted by the world, and left alone,
A prey to scorn, oppression, contumely
And all the ills which make the good despair.
He had a look so tranquil and so mild,
That something holy stole upon the sense
When he appear'd; his language had such power
In converse, that the hearer, as entranc'd
Sate lingering on to listen; while in song,
Or skill upon the many-stringed harp
Was never heard his equal! Then he knew
All our old ballads, all our father's tales,
All the adventurous deeds of early times,
The punishment of blood or sacrilege,
And the reward of virtue, when it seem'd
Deserted by the world, and left alone,
A prey to scorn, oppression, contumely
And all the ills which make the good despair.
