Melt and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll Cimmerian darkness o'er the parting soul! - Thomas Campbell

O Heaven! he cried, my bleeding country save!

Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud Philosophy
To teach me what thou art. — Still seem, as to my childhood's sight, A midway station given, For happy spirits to alight, Betwixt the earth and heaven.

Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind,
But leave, oh! leave the light of Hope behind!
What though my wingèd hours of bliss have been
Like angels visits, few and far between.