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ODE
ON THE
DEPARTING YEAR.
STROPHE I.
SPIRIT who sweepest the wild Harp of Time,
It is most hard, with an untroubled Ear
Thy dark inwoven Harmonies to hear!
Yet, mine eye fixt on Heaven's unchanging clime,
Long had I listened, free from mortal fear,
With inward stillness, and submitted mind:
When lo! its folds far waving on the wind
I saw the train of the Departing Year!
Starting from my silent sadness
Then with no unholy madness,
Ere yet the entered cloud forbade my sight,
I rais'd th' impetuous song, and solemnized his flight.
B
