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10
The boastful, bloody Son of Pride betray'd
His Hatred of the blest and blessing Maid.
One cloud, O Freedom! cross'd thy orb of Light
And sure, be deem'd, that Orb was quench'd in night:
For still does Madness roam on Guilt's bleak dizzy height!
ANTISTROPHE I.
My Soul beheld thy Vision.[1] Where, alone,
Voiceless and stern, before the Cloudy Throne
Aye Memory sits; there, garmented with gore,
With many an unimaginable groan
Thou storiedst thy sad Hours! Silence ensued:
Deep Silence o'er th' etherial Multitude,
Whose purple Locks with snow-white Glories shone.
Then, his eye wild ardors glancing,
From the choired Gods advancing,
The Spirit of the Earth made reverence meet
And stood up beautiful before the Cloudy Seat!
- ↑ My Soul beheld thy Vision.—i.e. Thy Image in a Vision.
