Oft in this season too the horse, provok'd, While his big sinews full of spirits swell, Trembling with vigor, in the heat of blood, Springs the high fence; and, o'er the field effus'd, Darts on the gloomy flood, with steadfast eye, And heart estrang'd to fear: his nervous chest, Luxuriant and erect, the seat of strength! Bears down the opposing stream; quenchless his thirst, He takes the river at redoubled draughts: And with wide nostrils, snorting, skims the wave. Still let me pierce into the midnight depth Of yonder grove, of wildest, largest growth; That, forming high in air a woodland quire, Nods o'er the mount beneath. At every step, Solemn and slow, the shadows blacker fall, And all is awful listening gloom around. These are the haunts of meditation, these The scenes where ancient bards the inspiring breath, Ecstatic, felt: and, from this world retir'd. Convers'd with angels, and immortal forms, On gracious errands bent: to save the fall Of virtue struggling on the brink of vice; In waking whispers, and repeated dreams, To hint pure thought, and warn the favor'd soul For future trials fated to prepare; To prompt the poet, who devoted gives His muse to better themes; to soothe the pangs Of dying worth, and from the patriot's breast (Backward to mingle in detested war, But foremost when engag'd) to turn the death: And numberless such offices of love, Daily and nightly, zealous to perform. [Illustration: A thousand shapes majestic stalk] Shook sudden from the bosom of the sky, A thousand shapes or glide athwart the dusk, Or stalk majestic on. Deep-rous'd, I feel A sacred terror, a severe delight, Creep through my mortal frame; and thus, methinks. A voice, than human more, the abstracted ear Of fancy strikes, "Be not of us afraid, Poor kindred man! thy fellow-creatures, we From the same Parent-Power our beings drew-- The same our Lord, and laws, and great pursuit. Once some of us, like thee, through stormy life Toil'd tempest-beaten, ere we could attain This holy calm, this harmony of mind, Where purity and peace immingle charms: Then fear not us; but with responsive song, Amid those dim recesses, undisturb'd By noisy folly and discordant vice, Of nature sing with us, and nature's God. Here frequent, at the visionary hour, When musing midnight reigns or silent noon, Angelic harps are in full concert heard, And voices chanting from the wood-crown'd hill, The deepening dale, or inmost sylvan glade; A privilege bestow'd by us, alone, On contemplation, or the hallow'd ear Of poet, swelling to seraphic strain."