Book 2 — IX

O form'd t' illume a sunless world forlorn, As o'er the chill and dusky brow of Night, In Finland's wintry skies the Mimic Morn[86:2] Electric pours a stream of rosy light, Pleas'd I have mark'd Oppression, terror-pale, 5 Since, thro' the windings of her dark machine, Thy steady eye has shot its glances keen— And bade th' All-lovely 'scenes at distance hail'. Nor will I not thy holy guidance bless, And hymn thee, Godwin! with an ardent lay; 10 For that thy voice, in Passion's stormy day, When wild I roam'd the bleak Heath of Distress, Bade the bright form of Justice meet my way— And told me that her name was Happiness.