I’ll toil to undo every night.”
Ye sons of song, rejoice!
Veeshnoo has still’d the jarring elements,
The spheres hymn music;
Again the god of day
Peeps forth with trembling ray,
Wakes, from their humid caves, the sleeping Nine,
And pours at intervals a strain divine.
“I have an iron yet in the fire,” cried Yamen;
“The vollied flame rides in my breath,