Лаура София Темпл (Laura Sophia Temple)

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Loud rav'd the rav'ning storm! it came--it past,
And Angels trembled at the ruthless blast;
Yes, angels wept to view the wreck of mind,
To mark each rent the tempest left behind;
To count each fall'n column that once grac'd
The noble fabric, now alas! defac'd
Oh ye wild winds! that ride on murd'rous wing!
Ye wizard pow'rs, that nip creation's spring!
Ye billowy clouds that veil the lamp of Heav'n,
And o'er the bland expanse are rudely driv'n!
No longer boast your desolating sway,
While Passion's storm shall wreck the Mind's fair day;
Tear with wild hand each flow'r by honour sown,
And with mad haste hurl reason from her throne.
Was it for this that Nature's nicest art,
Wove the fine fibres of the feeling heart?
Was it for this that Wisdom's piercing ray,
Bright as the radiant star that heralds day,
Held each wild thought beneath its strong control,
And reign'd the Guardian Planet of the soul?
And must I think it? Must the magic-spell,
Whose 'witching pow'r no mortal tongue can tell;
Must ev'ry charm that fancy lov'd to trace,
Fade like a night-dream from her mock'd embrace?

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