With charm and spell she blessed it there, Then round him cast the shadowy shroud, XXXV. Borne afar on the wings of the blast, The streaming of the rocket-light. XXXVI. The star is yet in the vault of heaven, And now 'tis wrapp'd in sulphur smoke, As swift as the glance of the arrowy lance That the storm-spirit flings from high, The star-shot flew o'er the welkin blue, As it fell from the sheeted sky. The fiends of the clouds are bellowing loud, He gallops unhurt in the shower of fire, While the cloud-fiends fly from the blaze; He watches each flake till its sparks expire, And rides in the light of its rays. But he drove his steed to the lightning's speed, And caught a glimmering spark; Then wheeled around to the fairy ground, And sped through the midnight dark. Ouphe and goblin! imp and sprite! Twine ye in a jocund ring, Hand to hand, and wing to wing, Round the wild witch-hazel tree. Hail the wanderer again, With dance and song, and lute and lyre, Pure his wing and strong his chain, Brush the dew and print the lea; The beetle guards our holy ground, And if mortal there be found, He hums in his ears and flaps his face; The leaf-harp sounds our roundelay, But hark! from tower on tree-top high, Shapes of moonlight! flit and fade! TO A FRIEND. "You damn me with faint praise." I. YES, faint was my applause and cold my praise, Though soul was glowing in each polished line; But nobler subjects claim the poet's lays, A brighter glory waits a muse like thine. Let amorous fools in lovesick measure pine; Let Strangford whimper on, in fancied pain, And leave to Moore his rose leaves and his vine; Be thine the task a higher crown to gain, The envied wreath that decks the patriot's holy strain. II. Yet not in proud triumphal song alone, There needs no voice to make our glories known; To strike her harp, until its soul arise From the neglected shade, where low in dust it lies. F |