Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/79

Rh

What in me is dark Illumine; what is low raise and support.

Far are the wings of intellect astray, That strive not, Father! to thy heavenly seat; They rove, but mount not; and the tempests beat Still on their plumes:—O source of mental day! Chase from before my spirit's track the array Of mists and shadows, raised by earthly care In troubled hosts that cross the purer air, And veil the opening of the starry way, Which brightens on to thee!—Oh! guide thou right My thought's weak pinion, clear mine inward sight, The eternal springs of beauty to discern, Welling beside thy throne; unseal mine ear, Nature's true oracles in joy to hear: Keep my soul wakeful still to listen and to learn.