Embattled steep, and foliaged bower—
The stilly forms of things unseen
Waver in twilight’s dubious screen,—
And mount, and vale, and earth, and sky
In grey confusion mock the eye,
Like features of some absent face,
That anguished Memory pains in vain to trace.
What Maturin was capable of achieving in blank verse, remains next to be seen.
III.
1816-1817.