Page:Moral Pieces in Prose and Verse.pdf/15



OFT, when the morning draws her dewy veil, Or twilight slumbers on the shrouded dale, Or moon beams tremble thro' the whisp'ring trees, Or float on clouds before the western breeze, Or evening, in her starry mantle bright, Precedes the slow majestic train of night; In that still hour the mind excursive roves, A heavenly voice the listening spirit moves. Then light wing'd forms appear with brow serene, And tempt the soul from this terrestrial scene. Her pow'rs no more can present objects move, And cold is earthly care, and earthly love; Memory hangs pausing o'er the unstain'd page, The prostrate passions all renounce their rage, Fear shrinks no more, and wrath forgets to frown, And fluttering fancy shuts her pinions down; The roving thoughts restrain their wild pursuit, Ev'n crested vanity sits meek and mute, And sceptred reason, bowing on her throne, Yields to a Pow'r acknowledged, though unknown, The world allures—but clouds her glories blot; The world may call; the spirit hears her not. A still, small voice arrests th' expanding soul, The full, strong tides of inspiration roll,