LIGure is too ligost

        And ruffled    cause, plaining on--

        Restless , until, being overthrown,

        It learo 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.
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