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Tho' passion and its pains were lulled to rest, And "even and anon" a pitious sob Shook the pure arch expansive o'er her breast. [FN#12] [FN#12] This effect is very observable in little children, who for several hours after they have cried themselves to sleep, and sometimes even when a smile is on their lips, are heard, from time to time, to utter sobs. XXIX. Save that 'twas all tranquillity; that reigned O'er fragrance sound and beauty; all was mute-- Save when a dove her dear one's absence plained And the faint breeze mourned o'er the slumberer's lute. XXX. It chanced, that day, lured by the verdure, came Zophiel, now minister of ill; but ere He sinned, a heavenly angel. The faint flame Of dying embers, on an altar, where Raguel, fair Egla's sire, in secret vowed And sacrificed to the sole living God, Where friendly shades the sacred rites enshround;--(2) The fiend beheld and knew; his soul was awed, And he bethought him of the forfeit joys Once his in Heaven;--deep in a darkling grot He sat him down;--the melancholy noise Of leaf and creeping vine accordant with his thought. XXXI. When fiercer spirits, howled, he but complained (3) Ere yet 'twas his to roam the pleasant earth, His heaven-invented harp he still retained Tho' tuned to bliss no more; and had its birth Of him, beneath some black infernal clift The first drear song of woe; and torment wrung The spirit less severe where he might lift His plaining voice--and frame the like as now he sung: XXXII. "Woe to thee, wild ambition, I employ Despair's dull notes thy dread effects to tell, Born in high-heaven, her peace thou could'st destroy, And, but for thee, there had not been a hell. "Thro' the celestial domes thy clarion pealed,-- Angels, entranced, beneath thy banners ranged, And stright were fiends;--hurled from the shrinking field, They waked in agony to wait the change. "Darting thro' all her veins the subtle fire The world's fair mistress first inhaled thy breath, To lot of higher beings learned to aspire,-- Dared to attempt--and doomed the world to death. "Thy thousand wild desires, that still torment The fiercely struggling soul, where peace once dwelt, But perished;--feverish hope--drear discontent, Impoisoning all possest--Oh! I have felt "As spirits feel--yet not for man we mourn Scarce o'er the silly bird in state were he, That builds his nest, loves, sings the morn's return, And sleeps at ev
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