A PROPHECY TO HIS BROTHER GEORGE IN AMERICA. "If I had a prayer to make for any great good, next to Tom's recovery, it should be that one of your children should be the first American poet. I have a great mind to make a prophecy; and they say that prophecies work out their own fulfilment." Oct. 29, 1818. T IS the witching hour of night, For a song and for a charm, And the moon is waxing warm To hear what I shall say. Moon! keep wide thy golden ears Hearken, stars! and hearken, spheres!- I sing an Infant's lullaby, Listen, listen, listen, listen, Glisten, glisten, glisten, glisten, Though the rushes that will make Listen, starlight, listen, listen, Child, I see thee! Child, I've found thee See, see, the lyre, the lyre, Upon the little cradle's top It stares, it stares, it stares, It lifts its little hand into the flame Unharm'd, and on the strings O' th' western wild, Bard art thou completely! A Poet now or never, O' th' western wild, A Poet now or never! i |