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Come Down, Ye Spirits.
Come down, ye Spirits! in your might, come down!
Come down, ye Spirits of this midnight hour;
Come down in all your dim sublimity
And majesty of terror! How I joy
To meet you in your own dark territories,
And hold mysterious converse in a tongue
That hath quite perished among the sons
Of fallen man! Ye Spirits that do roam
With unconfined footsteps o'er the paths
Of measureless eternity;—ye who skim
The bosomed cloud, or pace with hasty step
The earth's green surface, and its every spot,
Though ne'er so lone, deserted, and profound;
Repeople with strange sounds and voices sweet,
Which circle round, even when all else is still,
And breed in vulgar breasts a nameless dread
And awe inexplicable; which bids the flesh
To creep, as if its every fibre were
A many-footed and a living thing,
Com edown! come down!
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