Whose power hath a true consent Or what (though rare) of later age But, O sad Virgin! that thy power Such notes, as, warbled to the string, Thus, Night! oft see me in thy pale career, Till civil-suited Morn appear, Not trick'd and frounced, as she was wont But kercheft in a comely cloud, While rocking winds are piping loud; Or usher'd with a shower still, When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves, Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke, And let some strange mysterious Dream And, as I wake, sweet music breathe Above, about, or underneath, Sent by some Spirit to mortals good, In service high, and anthems clear, And bring all heaven before mine eyes. END OF VOL. II. C. Whittingham, College House, Chiswick. |