. Poetical works of James Montgomery . enign Swell my bosom, thrill my veins ; As thy beams the brightest shineWhen the deepest midnight reigns. Say, fair shepherdess of night! Who thy starry flock dost leadUnto rills of living light, On the blue ethereal mead; At this moment, dost thou see,From thine elevated sphere, One kind friend who thinks of me,—Thinks, and drops a feeling tear ? On a brilliant beam convey This soft whisper to his breast,— Wipe that generous drop away ;He for whom it falls is blest. Blest with Freedom unconfined,Dungeons cannot hold the Soul: Who can chain the immortal M
. Poetical works of James Montgomery . enign Swell my bosom, thrill my veins ; As thy beams the brightest shineWhen the deepest midnight reigns. Say, fair shepherdess of night! Who thy starry flock dost leadUnto rills of living light, On the blue ethereal mead; At this moment, dost thou see,From thine elevated sphere, One kind friend who thinks of me,—Thinks, and drops a feeling tear ? On a brilliant beam convey This soft whisper to his breast,— Wipe that generous drop away ;He for whom it falls is blest. Blest with Freedom unconfined,Dungeons cannot hold the Soul: Who can chain the immortal Mind ?—None but He who spans the pole. Fancy, too, the nimble fairy,With her subtle magic spell, In romantic visions airy Steals the captive from his cell. On her moonlight pinions borne,Far he flies from grief and pain ; Never, never to be torn From his friends and home again. D Stay, thou dear delusion ! stay ; Beauteous bubble ! do not break ;—Ah ! the pageant flits away ; —Who from such a dream would wake ? March 7, THE CAPTIVE NIGHTINGALE. Nocturnal Silence reigning, A Nightingale beganIn his cold cage complaining Of cruel-hearted Man:His drooping pinions shiverd, Like witherd moss so dry ;His heart with anguish quiverd, And sorrow dimmd his eye. His grief in soothing slumbers No balmy power could steep ;So sweetly flowd his numbers, The music seemd to Sons of Folly ! To you the Mourner sung;While tender melancholy Inspired his plaintive tongue. Now reigns the moon in splendour Amid the heaven serene ;A thousand stars attend her. And glitter round their queen :Sweet hours of inspiration ! When I, the still night long,Was wont to pour my passion, And breathe my soul in Song. But now, delicious season !In vain thy charms invite;Entombd in this dire prison,I sicken at the sight. THE CAPTIVE NIGHTINGALE. 23 This morn, this vernal morning, The happiest bird was I,That haild the sun returning, Or swam the hquid sky. In yonder breezy bowers, Among t
Size: 2312px × 1081px
Photo credit: © Reading Room 2020 / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1850, bookidpoeticalwork, bookyear1853
