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Fond words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep!
With Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh,
TO THE RIVER DUDDON.
O mountain Stream! the Shepherd and his Cot
FROM THE ITALIAN OF MICHAEL ANGELO.
Yes! hope may with my strong desire keep pace,
FROM THE SAME.
No mortal object did these eyes
behold When first they met the placid light of thine, And my Soul felt her destiny divine, And hope of endless peace
in me grew
bold: Heav'n-born, the Soul a heav'n-ward course must hold; Beyond the visible world She soars to seek, For what delights the sense is false and weak, Ideal Form, the universal mould. The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest In that which perishes: nor will he lend His heart to aught which doth on time depend. 'Tis sense, unbridled will, and not true love, Which kills the soul: Love betters what is best, Even here below, but more in heaven above.