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Fond words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep!
Like to a breeze from heaven.
Shall I alone;
I surely not a man ungently made,
Call thee worst Tyrant by which Flesh is crost? Perverse, self-will'd to own and to disown,
Mere Slave of them who never for thee pray'd, Still last to come where thou art wanted most!
With Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh, Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed; Some lying fast at anchor in the road,
Some veering up and down, one knew not why.
Come like a Giant from a haven broad;
When will she turn, and whither? She will brook
TO THE RIVER DUDDON.
O mountain Stream! the Shepherd and his Cot
Though simple thy Companions were and few;
FROM THE ITALIAN OF MICHAEL ANGELO.
Yes! hope may with my strong desire keep pace, And I be undeluded, unbetray'd;
For if of our affections none find grace
In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made
Love cannot have, than that in loving thee
As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts.
FROM THE SAME.
No mortal object did these eyes behold
And hope of endless peace in me grew bold:
Heav'n-born, the Soul a heav'n-ward course must hold;
For what delights the sense is false and weak,
The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest
In that which perishes: nor will he lend