Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/61

 ODE TO MEMORY. Is it, that in some other sphere The soul life'S pat has rehears'd, Existing, ere embodied here, Nor all embued in Lethe flint? Or, roving at the hour of sleep, Prophetic glimpses hath it known, Long buried in oblivion deep, Remember'd, when fulfdl'd alone ? How oft, his task conn'd o'er in vain, The s'chool-boy sleeps, oppress'd with care; But thou art busy in his brain, He wakes, and, 1o, 'tis written there ! Yet rarely what we mus'd on last In sleep thy changeful powers pursue, But, plunging deeply in the past, Bring all its time-whelm'd wrecks to view. Provision kind of bounteous Heaven, When woes distract, or cares molest, Else were the soul to madness driven, �For ever with one theme possest. And sometimes o'er some deathful scene Has horror cast so deep a hue, 41 ......... Google

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