58
POEMS.
THE CONSOLER.
It seemed, as Nature's flame were dead!—No beam
From Sun or Moon diffused its chearing gleam
O'er that dark sky, at morn which seemed so fair,
It thence seemed darker now. The mirky air
Close, thick, and lowering, with its burthen prest
The spirits down, and clogged the labouring breast.
The birds were silent on the leafless spray;
And wild and waste the soul's Elysium lay,
Spoiled of its floral treasure. Cankerous Want
And Sorrow's worm had killed Health's blooming plant:
From Sun or Moon diffused its chearing gleam
O'er that dark sky, at morn which seemed so fair,
It thence seemed darker now. The mirky air
Close, thick, and lowering, with its burthen prest
The spirits down, and clogged the labouring breast.
The birds were silent on the leafless spray;
And wild and waste the soul's Elysium lay,
Spoiled of its floral treasure. Cankerous Want
And Sorrow's worm had killed Health's blooming plant:
