VI

So, ye three Ghosts, adieu! Ye cannot raise

      My head cool-bedded in the flowery grass;

For I would not be dieted with praise,

      A pet-lamb in a sentimental farce!

Fade softly from my eyes and be once more

      In masque-like figures on the dreamy urn;

            Farewell! I yet have visions for the night,

And for the day faint visions there is store;

            Vanish, ye Phantoms! from my idle spright,

      Into the clouds, and nevermore return!