“A VOLANT TRIBE OF BARDS ON EARTH ARE FOUND”
A VOLANT Tribe of Bards on earth are found, Who, while the flattering Zephyrs round them play, On “coignes of vantage” hang their nests of clay; How quickly from that aery hold unbound, Dust for oblivion! To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye; Convinced that there, there only, she can lay Secure foundations. As the year runs round, Apart she toils within the chosen ring; While the stars shine, or while day’s purple eye 10 Is gently closing with the flowers of spring; Where even the motion of an Angel’s wing Would interrupt the intense tranquillity Of silent hills, and more than silent sky. 1823.