gusts and eddies; and the water no sooner swells, than it subsides. See BOURN's Hist. of Westmoreland. NOTE 28. Page 39. To what pure beings, in a nobler sphere, The several degrees of angels may probably have larger views, and some of them be endowed with capacities able to retain together, and constantly set before them, as in one picture, all their past knowledge at once. LOCKE on Human Understanding. book ii, chap, x. 9. ODE TO SUPERSTITION. I. 1. HENCE, to the realms of night, dire demon, hence! Thy chain of adamant can bind That little world the human mind,. And sink its noblest powers to impotence. Wake the lion's loudest roar, Clot his shaggy mane with gore, With flashing fury bid his eye-balls snine; Meek is his savage, sullen soul to thine! [breast, (1) At thy command he plants the dagger deep, I. 2. When, with a frown that froze the peopled earth, (2) Thou darted'st thy huge head from high, Night waved her banners o'er the sky. And, brooding, gave her shapeless shadows birth. Rocking on the billowy air, Ha! what withering phantoms glare! As blows the blast with many a sullen swell, That veils its genius from the vulgar eye; The spirit of the water rides the storm, And through the midst, reveals the terrors of his form. I. 3. O'er solid seas, where winter reigns, And holds each mountain-wave in chains, The fur-clad savage, ere he guides his deer (3) She hurls the torch! she fans the fire! To die is to be blest: (6) She clasps ner lord to part no more, And, wrapt in clouds, in tempests tost, (17) While the lone shepherd, near the shipless main, (8) Sees o'er her hills advance the long drawn funeral train. II. 1. Thou spakest, and lo! a new creation glowed, Each unhewn mass of living stone Was clad in horrors not its own, And at its base the trembling nations bowed. Grasped the globe with iron hand. (9) Circled with seats of bliss, the lord of light And braves the efforts of a host of years. Sweet music breathes her soul into the wind, [mind. And bright-eyed painting stamps the image of the II. 2. Round their rude ark old Egypt's sorcerers rise! But ah! what myriads claim the bended knee? (12) Go, count the busy drops that swell the sea. |