POEMS.
61
A mirror, on whose polished breast were shown
A thousand mingling shapes of things unknown,
Where Fancy bade the enraptured thought unite
All that was pure and precious, fair and bright.
Yet what those objects were, in vain mine eyes
I strained to know; For still would mists arise,
Which, o'er the crystal surface as they played,
Confounded light with light, and shade with shade.
Yet Oh! so beauteous showed those clouded views,
So bright those doubtful forms and blended hues,
I thought, while gazing on their lines obscure,
All witnessed pomp seemed mean, all dreamt-of wealth seemed poor!
A thousand mingling shapes of things unknown,
Where Fancy bade the enraptured thought unite
All that was pure and precious, fair and bright.
Yet what those objects were, in vain mine eyes
I strained to know; For still would mists arise,
Which, o'er the crystal surface as they played,
Confounded light with light, and shade with shade.
Yet Oh! so beauteous showed those clouded views,
So bright those doubtful forms and blended hues,
I thought, while gazing on their lines obscure,
All witnessed pomp seemed mean, all dreamt-of wealth seemed poor!
She waved her hand; the clouds disperst!—'tis true,
The gaudy Sun no dazzling lustre threw
Athwart Heaven's vault; but that clear tranquil Grey,
Whose sober hue attends on closing day,
Stole o'er the skies, eye-soothing!—On, the Dame
With lofty head and port majestic came;
The gaudy Sun no dazzling lustre threw
Athwart Heaven's vault; but that clear tranquil Grey,
Whose sober hue attends on closing day,
Stole o'er the skies, eye-soothing!—On, the Dame
With lofty head and port majestic came;
