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WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT.
WHILE thro' the broken pane the tempest sighs,
Go-you may call it madness, folly;
Oh, if you knew the pensive pleasure
TO THE FRAGMENT OF
A STATUE OF HERCULES,
AND dost thou still, thou mass of breathing stone,
What tho' the Spirits of the North, that swept
* In the gardens of the Vatican, where it was placed by Julius II., it was long the favourite study of those great men to whom we owe the revival of the arts, Michael Angelo, Raphael, and the Caracci.
Once in the possession of Praxiteles, if we may believe an ancient epigram on the Gnidian Venus.
Analecta Vet. Poetarum, III. 200.
MINE be a cot beside the hill;
The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch, Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,
Around my ivy'd porch shall spring
The village-church, among the trees, Where first our marriage-vows were given, With merry peals shall swell the breeze, And point with taper spire to heaven.
TO THE GNAT.
WHEN by the green-wood side, at summer eve,
-Ah now thy barbed shaft, relentless fly, Unsheaths its terrors in the sultry air! No guardian sylph, in golden panoply, Lifts the broad shield, and points the glittering spear. Now near and nearer rush thy whirring wings, Thy dragon-scales still wet with human gore. Hark, thy shrill horn its fearful larum flings! -I wake in horror, and dare sleep no more!