SUPERSTITION. Heart-chilling Superstition! thou canst glaze Coleridge. Superstition. ODE TO SUPERSTITION. BY ROGERS. I. 1. HENCE, to the realms of Night, dire Demon, hence! That little world, the human mind, Clot his shaggy mane with gore, With flashing fury bid his eye-balls shine; Thy touch, thy deadening touch has steel'd the breast, Whence through her April-shower, soft Pity smiled; Has closed the heart each godlike virtue bless'd, To all the silent pleadings of his child. At thy command he plants the dagger deep, At thy command exults, though Nature bids him weep! I. 2. When, with a frown that froze the peopled earth, Ha! what withering phantoms glare And, thro' the mist, reveals the terrors of his form O'er solid seas, where Winter reigns, Smit by the scorching of the noontide beam. Blooming in her bridal vest : She hurls the torch! she fans the fire! She clasps her lord to part no more, While the lone shepherd, near the shipless main, Sees o'er her hills advance the long-drawn funeral train. II. 1. Thou spakest, and lo! a new creation glow'd. And at its base the trembling nations bow'd. Grasp'd the globe with iron hand. Circled with seats of bliss, the Lord of Light The indignant pyramid sublimely towers, Sweet Music breathes her soul into the wind; And bright-eyed Painting stamps the image of the |