Page:Ode on the Departing Year - Coleridge (1796).djvu/19

 If ever to her lidless dragon eyes, O ! thy predestin'd ruins rise, The Fiend-hag on her perilous couch doth leap, Mutt'ring distemper'd triumph in her charmed sleep.

Away, my soul, away! In vain, in vain, the birds of warning sing— And hark! I hear the famin'd brood of prey Flap their lank pennons on the groaning wind! Away, my Soul, away! I unpartaking of the evil thing, With daily prayer, and daily toil Soliciting my scant and blameless soil, Have wail'd my country with a loud lament. Now I recenter my immortal mind In the long sabbath of high self-content; Cleans'd from the fleshly Passions that bedim God's Image, Sister of the Seraphim. LINES