So pass'd their life, a clear united stream, By care unruffled; till, in evil hour, The tempest caught them on the tender walk, Heedless how far, and where its mazes stray'd, While, with each other bless'd, creative love Still bade eternal Eden smile around. Heavy with instant fate, her bosom heav'd Unwonted sighs, and stealing oft a look Of the big gloom, on Celadon her eye Fell tearful, wetting her disorder'd cheek. In vain assuring love, and confidence In Heaven, repress'd her fear; it grew, and shook Her frame near dissolution. He perceiv'd The unequal conflict; and, as angels look On dying saints, his eyes compassion shed, With love illumin'd high. "Fear not," he said, "Sweet innocence! thou stranger to offense, And inward storm! He who yon skies involves In frowns and darkness, ever smiles on thee With kind regard. O'er thee the secret shaft That wastes at midnight, or the undreaded hour Of noon, flies harmless; and that very voice Which thunders terror through the guilty heart, With tongues of seraphs whispers peace to thine. 'Tis safety to be near thee sure, and thus To clasp perfection!" From his void embrace, Mysterious Heaven! that moment, to the ground, A blacken'd corse, was struck the beauteous maid, But who can paint the lover, as he stood, Pierc'd by severe amazement, hating life, Speechless, and fix'd in all the death of woe! So, faint resemblance, on the marble tomb The well-dissembled mourner stooping stands, Forever silent, and forever sad. As from the face of heaven the shatter'd clouds Tumultuous rove, the interminable sky Sublimer swells, and o'er the world expands A purer azure. Nature, from the storm, Shines out afresh; and through the lighten'd air A higher lustre and a clearer calm, Diffusive, tremble; while, as if in sign Of danger past, a glittering robe of joy, Set off abundant by the yellow ray, Invests the fields, yet dropping from distress. 'Tis beauty all, and grateful song around, Join'd to the low of kine, and numerous bleat Of flocks thick-nibbling through the clover'd vale. And shall the hymn be marr'd by thankless man, Most-favor'd; who with voice articulate Should lead the chorus of this lower world? Shall he, so soon forgetful of the hand That hush'd the thunder, and serenes the sky, Extinguish'd feel that spark the tempest wak'd, That sense of powers exceeding far his own, Ere yet his feeble heart has lost its fears?