Sweet bard, whose tones great Milton might approve, <br />And Shakspeare, from high Fancy's sphere, <br />Turning to the sound his ear, <br />Bend down a look of sympathy and love; <br />Oh, swell the lyre again, <br />As if in full accord it poured an angel's strain! <br />But oh! what means that look aghast, <br />Ev'n whilst it seemed in holy trance, <br />On scenes of bliss above to glance! <br />Was it a fiend of darkness passed! <br />Oh, speak-- <br />Paleness is upon his cheek-- <br />On his brow the big drops stand, <br />To airy vacancy <br />Points the dread silence of his eye, <br />And the loved lyre it falls, falls from his nerveless hand! <br />Come, peace of mind, delightful guest! <br />Oh, come, and make thy downy nest <br />Once more on his sad heart! <br />Meek Faith, a drop of comfort shed; <br />Sweet Hope, support his aged head; <br />And Charity, avert the burning dart! <br />Fruitless the prayer--the night of deeper woes <br />Seems o'er the head even now to close; <br />In vain the path of purity he trod, <br />In vain, in vain, <br />He poured from Fancy's shell his sweetest hermit strain-- <br />He has no hope on earth: forsake him not, O God!<br /><br />William Lisle Bowles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-harp-and-despair-of-cowper/
