Mortal! fear no more,— The reign is past of ancient violence; And Jove hath sworn that time shall not deface, Nor death destroy, nor mutability Perpl… - Hartley Coleridge

Aye, ye were blest with folly. Who may tell What strange conceits upon the earth were sown And gender'd by the fond garrulity Of your aereal music? Scatter'd notes, Half heard, half fancied by the erring sense Of man, on which they fell like downy seeds Sown by autumnal winds, grew up, and teem'd With plenteous madness.

Where'er ye sojourn, and whatever names Ye are or shall be called; fairies, or sylphs, Nymphs of the wood or mountain, flood or field: Live ye in peace, and long may ye be free To follow your good minds.

Never till this day Did life disturb the dense eternity Of joyless quiet; never skylark's song, Or storm-bird's prescient scream, or eaglet's cry, Made vital the gross fog. The very light Is but an alien that can find no welcome