Psyche, and other poems — page 137: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

i19 Still as he spoke, where’er he turned his shield The darts drop quivering from each slackened bow, Unner ved each arm, No force remains to wield The weighty falchion, or the javelin throw ; Each voice half choked expires in murmurs low, A dizzy mist obscures their wondering sight, Their eyes no more their wonted fury know, With stupid awe they gaze upon the Enight, Or, as his voice they hear, trembling disperse in flight. _ Yet raged the stormn with unabated power ; A little creek the labouri ing vessel gains ; Vhere they resolve to endure the blustering hour, The dashing billows, and the beaten rains. Soon as the bark the sheltering bay attains, And in the shallows moored securely rides, Attentive still to soften all her pains, The watchful Knight for Psyche’s ease provides ; h Some fisher’s hut perchance the shelving harbour hides. Deep in the steril bank a grotto stood, Whose winding caves repel the inclement air, Worn in the hollowed rock by many a flood And sounding surge that dashed its white foam ther¢; The refuge now of a defenceless fair, i Who issuing thence, with courteous kind intent Approached the knight, and kindly bade him share Whatever good indulgent heaven had lent To cheer her hapless years in lotiely suffering spent. Connicloooks.comnn