MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, Thus when life's fleeting day, by misfortune o'ercast, Has been beat by the tempest, and chill'd by the blast, To the faint weary traveller sweet is the close, And welcome the moment, that whispers repose. See, the shadows disperse; not a vestige remains. Of his doubts, or his terrors, his woes, or his pains; All is clear, all. i.s lovely, and brilliant in hue, And Heaven effulgent bursts forth on his view ! LINES WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT. 'T?s still as Death; and Death's twin-brother, Sleep, Beneath this roof embraces all but me; This is my hour of bliss; I wake, and weep, But, dearest, it is bliss to weep for thee ! Oh, when I breathe for thee the voiceless prayer, With such intensity of ardeut thought That all my soul is rapt, and centred there, Dost thou not feel my spirit round thee float ? ......... ?Google
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