Where all but kindly fervours were assuaged,
Undimmed by weakness’ shade, or turbid ire!
And though, amidst the calm of thought entire,
Some high and haughty features might betray
A soul impetuous once, ’twas earthly fire
That fled composure’s intellectual ray,
As Etna’s fires grow dim before the rising day.
IX.
I boast no song in magic wonders rife,
But yet, oh, Nature! is there nought to prize,