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.