Ill-omen'd bird! whose cries portentous float O'er yon savannah with the mournful wind; While, as the Indian hears your piercing note, Dark dread of future evil fills his mind; Wherefore with early lamentation break The dear delusive visions of repose? Why from so short felicity awake My wounded senses to substantial woes? O'er my sick soul thus rous'd from transient rest, Pale Superstition sheds her influence drear, And to my shuddering fancy would suggest Thou com'st to speak of every woe I fear. Ah! Reason little o'er the soul prevails, When, from ideal ill, the enfeebled spirit fails! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMEDAY BOOK: MIRIAM FAY'S LETTER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS EPISTLE TO SIR ROBERT WALPOLE (1) by HENRY FIELDING AUTUMN WOODS by ANNA M. ACKERMANN PROMETHEUS BOUND: PROMETHEUS THE TEACHER OF MEN by AESCHYLUS WRITTEN IN IRELAND by MARY (CUMBERLAND) ALCOCK QUATRAIN: FAME by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH HUNGER'S DANGER by MAGDA BRANDON |