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Updated: May 5, 2025
Simile, thrum, thrum, thrum, by gar here is vary fine, thrum, thrum, thrum, write me some words directly. I durst not interrupt him to ask on what subject, so instantly began to describe a fine morning. "'Calm was the land and calm the seas, And calm the heaven's dome serene, Hush'd was the gale and hush'd the breeze, And not a vapor to be seen.
Coleridge in a course of Lectures upon Poetry given by him at the Royal Institution. All things are hush'd as Nature's self lay dead; The mountains seem to nod their drowsy head. The little Birds in dreams their songs repeat, And sleeping Flowers beneath the Night-dew sweat: Even Lust and Envy sleep; yet Love denies Rest to my soul, and slumber to my eyes.
Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes, Youth at the prow and pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That hush'd in grim repose, expects it's evening prey.
My thoughts, like birds, who're frighten'd from their nest, Around the place where all was hush'd before, Flutter, and hardly nestle any more. Our story now reverts to the Indians, of whom we have for so long made little or no mention.
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