Page:Poems (Barbauld).djvu/144

134 To break the midnight air; tho' the rais'd ear, Intenely litening, drinks in every breath. How deep the ilence yet how loud the praie! But are they ilent all? or is there not A tongue in every tar that talks with man, And wooes him to be wife; nor wooes in vain: This dead of midnight is the noon of thought, And widom mounts her zenith with the tars. At this till hour the elf-collected oul Turns inward, and beholds a tranger there Of high decent, and more than mortal rank; An embryo ; a park of fire divine, Which mut burn on for ages, when the un, (Fair tranitory creature of a day!) Has clos'd his golden eye, and wrap'd in hades Forgets his wonted journey thro' the eat.

&emsp;Ye citadels of light, and eats of ! Perhaps my future home, from whence the oul Revolving