Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/182

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And with the rocking pines Of the olden Apennines, In your dark path stood fearless and elate:

Your lightnings were as rods, That smote the deep abodes Of thought and vision—and the stream gush'd free; Come, that my soul again May swell to burst its chain— Bring me the music of the sweeping sea!

Within me dwells a flame, An eagle caged and tame, Till call'd forth by the harping of the blast; Then is its triumph's hour, It springs to sudden power, As mounts the billow o'er the quivering mast.

Then, then, the canvass o'er, With hurried hand I pour The lava-waves and gusts of my own soul!