Song Of A Spirit.

SONG OF A SPIRIT.

In the sightless air I dwell, On the sloping sun-beams play; Delve the cavern's inmost cell, Where never yet did day-light stray.

Dive beneath the green-sea waves, And gambol in the briny deeps; Skim every shore that Neptune laves, From Lapland's plains to India's steeps.

Oft I mount with rapid force Above the wide earth's shadowy zone; Follow the day-star's flaming course Through realms of space to thought unknown;

And listen to celestial sounds, That swell the air, unheard of men, As I watch my nightly rounds O'er woody steep, and silent glen.

Under the shade of waving trees. On the green bank of fountain clear, At pensive eve I sit at ease, While dying music murmurs near.

And oft, on point of airy clift, That hangs upon the western main, I watch the gay tints passing swift, And twilight veil the liquid plain.

Then, when the breeze has sunk away, And ocean scarce is heard to lave, For me the sea-nymphs softly play Their dulcet shells beneath the wave.

Their dulcet shells! I hear them now; Slow swells the strain upon mine ear; Now faintly falls — now warbles low, 'Till rapture melts into a tear.

The ray that silvers o'er the dew, And trembles through the leafy shade, And tints the scene with softer hue, Calls me to rove the lonely glade;

Or hie me to some ruin'd tow'r, Faintly shewn by moon-light gleam, Where the lone wand'rer owns my pow'r In shadows dire that substance seem;

In thrilling sounds that murmur woe, And pausing silence makes more dread; In music breathing from below Sad, solemn Strains, that wake the dead.

Unseen I move — unknown am fear'd! Fancy's wildest dreams I weave; And oft by bards my voice is heard To die along the gales of eve.