AWE AND FEAR.
Now, all is hush'd and still as death—
How reverend is the face of this tall pile,
Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads,
To bear aloft its arch'd and pond'rous roof,
By its own weight made stedfast and immoveable,
Looking tranquillity! It strikes an awe
And terror on my aking sight. The tombs,
And monumental caves of death look cold,
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart.
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice—
Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear
Thy voice—my own affrights me with its echoes.