XXXVIII.
A night, to call from green Elysium's bowers
The shades of elder bards; a night, to hold
Unseen communion with th' inspiring powers
That made deep groves their dwelling-place of old;
A night, for mourners, o'er the hallow'd mould,
To strew sweet flowers; for revellers to fill
And wreath the cup; for sorrows to be told,
Which love hath cherish'd long;—vain thoughts! be still!
XXXIX.
It should come sweeping in the storm, and rending
The ancient summits in its dread career!
And with vast billows, wrathfully contending,
And with dark clouds, o'ershadowing every sphere!
—But He, whose footstep shakes the earth with fear,
Passing to lay the sovereign cities low,
Alike in His omnipotence is near,
When the soft winds o'er spring's green pathway blow,
