10
POWER OF
Why turns the restless glance on every sideIn grateful gloom, or melancholy pride?Touched by quick sympathy's mysterious springThought's airy sprites in mazy circles wing,On the fine nerves impress a trembling thrill,And move obedient to the wakeful will,Till memory's trains in swift succession rise,And round retirement blend harmonic dyes.
Hence o'er the spot, where rest the storied dead, (1)[1]Where virtue triumphed, or where valor bled;Where classic ruins mid the wreck of timeIn tranquil grandeur lift their heads sublime;The lone enthusiast loves the lines to trace,Which genius chiselled on the bust of grace,To muse on elder lore, and studious thenceLight the pure thought, and nerve the manly sense.Still, as wild Avon winds in silent pride,His Shakespere's hautboy charms the listening tide;
- ↑ See notes at the end
