When lock'd in short suspence by sleep's soft pow'r
In temporary death the senses lie,
When solemn silence reigns at midnight hour,
Deaf the dull ear, and clos'd the curtain'd eye;
Objects of sense, each conscious sense asleep,
With lively image strike the wakeful soul,
Some frowning rock that threats the foaming deep,
Or wood-hung vale, where streams meand'ring roll,
Some long-lost friend's returning voice you hear,
Clasp the life-pictur'd shade, and drop the pleasing tear.