XXII.

Visit her, gentle Sleep! With wings of healing,
And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling,
Silent as tho' they watched the sleeping Earth!
With light heart may she rise,
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,
Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice.

_Samuel T. Coleridge_.




XXIII.

Sleep! king of gods and men!
Come to my call again,
Swift over field and fen,
Mountain and deep:

Come, bid the waves be still;
Sleep, streams on height and hill;
Beasts, birds and snakes, thy will
Conquereth, Sleep!

Come on thy golden wings,