ODE TO SLEEP. 1773. I. COME, gentle Sleep! Balm of my wounds and softner of my woes, And lull my weary heart in sweet repose, And bid my sadden'd soul forget to weep, While dewy eve with solemn sweep, II. Come, but thy leaden sceptre leave, Thy opiate rod, thy poppies pale, Dipp'd in the torpid fount of Lethe's stream, That shroud with night each intellectual beam, And quench th' immortal fire, in deep Oblivion's wave. Yet draw the thick impervious veil O'er all the scenes of tasted woe; Command each cypress shade to flee; Between this toil-worn world and me, [low. Display thy curtain broad, and hide the realms be III. Descend, and graceful in thy hand, And call thy bright, aerial train, That in the Elysian land of dreams, Or bowery maze, that shades the purple streams, song, In more than mortal charms array'd, People the airy vales and revel in thy reign. IV. But drive afar the haggard crew, That haunt the guilt-encrimson'd bed, Or dim before the frenzied view Stalk with slow and sullen tread; While furies with infernal glare, Wave their pale torches through the troubled air; And deep from Darkness' inmost womb, Sad groans dispart the icy tomb, And bid the sheeted spectre rise, Mid shrieks and fiery shapes and deadly fantasies. V. Come and loose the mortal chain, That binds to clogs of clay th' ethereal wing; And give th' astonish'd soul to rove, Where never sunbeam stretch'd its wide domain; And hail her kindred forms above, In fields of uncreated spring, Aloft where realms of endless glory rise, And rapture paints in gold the landscape of the skies. VI. Then through the liquid fields we'll climb, Where Plato treads empyreal air, Where daring Homer sits sublime, And Pindar rolls his fiery car; Above the cloud-encircled hills, Where high Parnassus lifts his airy head, |