Of late I climb'd a lonely height
And watch'd the moon-streak'd clouds in flight,
Whose forms fantastic reel'd and whirl'd
Like genii of a spectral world.
Thin cirri veil'd the silv'ry dome
And waver'd like the ocean foam,
While shapes of darker, heavier kind
Scudded before a daemon wind.
Methought the churning vapours took
Now and anon a fearsome look,
As if amidst the fog and blur
March'd figures known and sinister.
From west to east the things advanc'd-
A mocking train that leap'd and danc'd
Like Bacchanals with joined hands
In endless file thro' airy lands.
Aërial mutt'rings, dimly heard,
The comfort of my spirit stirr'd
With hideous thoughts, that bade me screen
My sight from the portentous scene.
"Yon fleeing mists," the murmurs said,
"Are ghosts of hopes, deny'd and dead."