POWER of these awful regions, hail! For sure some mighty Genius roves With step unheard, or loves to sail Unseen, along these cliffs and groves. O'er the wild mountain's stormy waste, The shatter'd crag's impending breast, And rocks by mortal feet untrod; Deep in the murmuring night of woods, Or mid the headlong roar of floods, More bright we view the present God. More bright, than if in glittering state O'ercanopied with gold he sat, The pride of Phidian art confess'd.— Hail, power sublime! thy votary shield; O listen to my lay, and yield A young, but weary, wanderer, rest. But if, from rest and silence torn, And these loved scenes, I roam afar, By fate's returning surge down born, To toss in care's tumultuous war; Grant me, secure from toil and strife, And all the vain alarms of life, And all the rabble's feverish rage, Remote in some obscure retreat, At least to pass, in freedom sweet, The solitude of age. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HYBRIDS OF WAR: A MORALITY POEM: 1. VIETNAM by KAREN SWENSON TRUE UNTIL DEATH by ROBERT BURNS WAR IS KIND: 1 by STEPHEN CRANE MOONLIT APPLES by JOHN DRINKWATER ODE TO THE WEST WIND by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY AT BETHLEHEM: 3. TO HIS MOTHER by JOHN BANISTER TABB |