While the dark Genius of our northern clime,
Whose giant limbs the mist of years enshrouds,
Bursts through the veil which hides his head sublime,
And moves majestic through recoiling clouds!
O yes! they own the wond'rous spell,
And to each form their hands divine
Give, with nice art, the temper'd swell,
The chasten'd touch and faultless line!
Each fiction under their command,
Assumes an air severely true,