LIGure is too ligost
And ruffled cause, complaining on--
Restless , until, being overthrown,
It learneto lie quiet. Let a frost
Or a small o t
Of our ripe peac the wilful sun
Sraight we run
A furlongs sig.
But ime t and the brain
God ransfixed us,--we, so moved before,
Attain to a calm. Ay, ss of pain,
e ancers, safe from shore,
And ormy main
Gods cered judgments walk for evermore.