And palid visions burst the yawning tomb.
Oppress’d I stood; when lo! from yonder sky;
Where charms celestial to the sight are giv’n,
Some Seraph’s beauties swept in glory by,
Enwrapt in all the radiant blooms of heav’n.
Propt on an amber cloud, one seem’d to stand,
While o’er his breast his radiant pinions fold:
A glitt’ring spear supports his better hand,
His blazing helmet flames with plumy gold!
I hear him say, “Why pour thy mournful strain?