Prologue by Anne Bannerman

Turn from the path, if search of gay delight
Lead thy vain footsteps back to ages past!
Frail are the blighted flowers, and thinly cast
O’er the dim regions of monastic night.

Yet, in their cavern’d dark recesses, dwells
The long-lost Spirit of forgotten times,
Whose voice prophetic reach’d to distant climes,
And rul’d the nations from his witched cells;

That voice is hush’d! — But still, in Fancy’s ear,
Its first unmeasur’d melodies resound!
Blending with terrors wild, and legions drear,
The charmed minstrelsy of mystic sound,
That rous’d, embodied, to the eye of Fear,
Th’ unearthly habitants of faery ground.

From: Bannerman, Anne, Poems. A New Edition, 1807, Mundell, Doig, & Stevenson: Edinburgh, p. 138.
(https://archive.org/stream/poems00banngoog#page/n158/mode/2up)

Date: 1800

By: Anne Bannerman (1765-1829)

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