Page:Ode on the Departing Year - Coleridge (1796).djvu/17

 The Voice had ceas'd, the Phantoms fled, Yet still I gasp'd and reel'd with dread. And ever when the dream of night Renews the vision to my sight, Cold sweat-damps gather on my limbs, My Ears throb hot, my eye-balls start, My Brain with horrid tumult swims, Wild is the Tempest of my Heart; And my thick and struggling breath Imitates the toil of Death! No uglier agony confounds The Soldier on the war-field spread, When all foredone with toil and wounds Death-like he dozes among heaps of Dead! (The strife is o'er, the day-light fled, And the Night-wind clamours hoarse; See! the startful Wretch's head Lies pillow'd on a Brother's Corse!) O doom'd to fall, enslav'd and vile, O ! O ray mother Isle! Thy valleys, fair as Eden's bowers,