3
The wind flies fitful through the forest trees,
With hollow howlings, and in wrathful mood;
As when some maniac fierce, disdaining ease,
Tears with convulsive power,
In horrid fury's hour,
His locks dishevelled; and a chilling moan
Breathes from his tortured breast, with dread and dismal tone.
With hollow howlings, and in wrathful mood;
As when some maniac fierce, disdaining ease,
Tears with convulsive power,
In horrid fury's hour,
His locks dishevelled; and a chilling moan
Breathes from his tortured breast, with dread and dismal tone.
Thus, the impetuous blast
Doth from the woodlands tear
The leaves, when Summer's reign is past,
And sings aloud the requiem of despair;—
Pours ceaseless the reverberated sigh,
While past the honors of the forest fly,
Kiss the low ground, and flutter, shrink, and die.
Doth from the woodlands tear
The leaves, when Summer's reign is past,
And sings aloud the requiem of despair;—
Pours ceaseless the reverberated sigh,
While past the honors of the forest fly,
Kiss the low ground, and flutter, shrink, and die.
A SOLACE.1822.
Thus anxiously why watch the dawn,
And hope for morning light?
When day to me is still the same
As sad and dreary night.
And hope for morning light?
When day to me is still the same
As sad and dreary night.
