1815. ——- THE SUBLIME TYPE.
THE sun, whom Grecians Helms call,
His heavenly path with pride doth tread,
And, to subdue the world's wide all,
Looks round, beneath him, high o'er head.
He sees the fairest goddess pine,
Heaven's child, the daughter of the clouds,—
For her alone he seems to shine;
In trembling grief his form he shrouds,
Careless for all the realms of bliss,—
Her streaming tears more swiftly flow:
For every pearl he gives a kiss,
And changeth into joy her woe.