Raze out the written troubles of the brain; VI. POWER OF IMAGINATION. THE poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen VII.-DAYBREAK. NIGHT'S Swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there, VIII. PROVIDENCE. THERE'S a Divinity that shapes our ends, CHORAL HYMN OF THE JEWISH MAIDENS. KING of kings! and Lord of lords! Behold, O Lord, the heathen tread And now the wild boar comes to waste No! by the marvels of thine hand, Like us, in utter helplessness, On the margin of the flood With lifted rod the prophet stood; And the summoned east wind blew, And aside it sternly threw The gathered waves, that took their stand, Or walls of sea-green marble piled Then the light of morning lay Rang with Israel's chanted words, 66 King of kings! and Lord of lords!" Then with bow and banner glancing, In a rich and boastful ring All around her furious king. But the Lord from out his cloud, Down the deep bosom of the sea. With a quick and sudden swell Prone the liquid ramparts fell ; Down they sank, they sank like lead, And the morning sun that shone Its meridian radiance then Cast on a wide sea, heaving as of yore, Against a silent, solitary shore ! Then did Israel's maidens sing, Then did Israel's timbrels ring, To Him, the King of kings! that in the sea, The Lord of lords! had triumphed gloriously. And our timbrels' flashing chords, King of kings! and Lord of lords! Shall they not attuned be Lo! against thy people come And from worse than bondage save, MILMAN. THE CLOUD. I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, I bear light shade for the leaves when laid From my wings are shaken the dews that waken When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, I wield the flail of the lashing hail, I sift the snow on the mountains below, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. In a cavern under is fettered the thunder- Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, This pilot is guiding me, Lured by the love of the genii that move In the depths of the purple sea; Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, And I, all the while, bask in heaven's blue smile, The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, When the morning-star shines dead; As on the jag of a mountain crag, Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle, alit, one moment may sit, In the light of its golden wings. And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, Its ardours of rest and of love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above, With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest, As still as a brooding dove. That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, The stars peep behind and peer ! And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, Over a torrent sea. |