Page:Sibylline Leaves (Coleridge).djvu/265

 With groans, and tremulous shudderings—all is over—
 * It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud!
 * A tale of less aifright,
 * And temper'd with delight,

As Otway's self had fram'd the tender lay—
 * 'Tis of a little child
 * Upon a lonesome wild,

Not far from home, but she hath lost her way: And now moans low in bitter grief and fear, And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear.

'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep: Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep! Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,
 * And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,

May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling,
 * Silent as though they watch'd the sleeping Earth!
 * With light heart may she rise,
 * Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,
 * Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice:

To her may all things live, from Pole to Pole, Their life the eddying of her living soul!
 * O simple spirit, guided from above,

Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my choice, Thus may'st thou ever, evermore rejoice.