SONG OF A SPIRIT. Ann Radcliffe (née Ward) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Radcliffe, Ann Ward, 1764-1823. The Poems of Mrs. Ann Radcliffe. London printed by and for J. Smith, Princes Street 1816 pp. 16-19. 118p. [Radcliffe's poems only, pp. 1-95]

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SONG OF A SPIRIT . In the sightless air I dwell , On the sloping sun-beams play ; Delve the cavern's inmost cell , Where never yet did day-light stray . Dive beneath the green-sea waves , And gambol in the briny deeps ; Skim every shore that Neptune laves , From Lapland's plains to India's steeps . Oft I mount with rapid force Above the wide earth's shadowy zone ; Follow the day-star's flaming course Through realms of space to thought unknown ; And listen to celestial sounds , That swell the air , unheard of men , As I watch my nightly rounds O'er woody steep , and silent glen . Under the shade of waving trees . On the green bank of fountain clear , At pensive eve I sit at ease , While dying music murmurs near . And oft , on point of airy clift , That hangs upon the western main , I watch the gay tints passing swift , And twilight veil the liquid plain . Then , when the breeze has sunk away , And ocean scarce is heard to lave , For me the sea-nymphs softly play Their dulcet shells beneath the wave . Their dulcet shells ! I hear them now ; Slow swells the strain upon mine ear ; Now faintly falls — now warbles low , 'Till rapture melts into a tear . The ray that silvers o'er the dew , And trembles through the leafy shade , And tints the scene with softer hue , Calls me to rove the lonely glade ; Or hie me to some ruin'd tow'r , Faintly shewn by moon-light gleam , Where the lone wand'rer owns my pow'r In shadows dire that substance seem ; In thrilling sounds that murmur woe , And pausing silence makes more dread ; In music breathing from below Sad , solemn Strains , that wake the dead . Unseen I move — unknown am fear'd ! Fancy's wildest dreams I weave ; And oft by bards my voice is heard To die along the gales of eve .