The coursers seemed to gather speed;

II

earth

Appeared a vast and shadowy sphere;

The sun's unclouded orb

Rolled through the black con

cave;

Its rays of rapid light

Parted around the chariot's swifter

course,

And fell, like ocean's feathery spray Dashed from the boiling surge Before a vessel's prow.

The magic car moved on.

Earth's distant orb appeared

The smallest light that twinkles in the

heaven;

Whilst round the chariot's way
Innumerable systems rolled,
And countless spheres diffused
An ever-varying glory.

It was a sight of wonder: some
Were horned like the crescent moon;
Some shed a mild and silver beam
Like Hesperus o'er the western sea;
Some dash'd athwart with trains of
flame,

Like worlds to death and ruin driven; ome shone like suns, and, as the chariot

passed,

Eclipsed all other light.

Spirit of Nature! here!

In this interminable wilderness
Of worlds, at whose immensity
Even soaring fancy staggers,
Here is thy fitting temple.

Yet not the lightest leaf
That quivers to the passing breeze
Is less instinct with thee:

Yet not the meanest worm

That lurks in graves and fattens on the dead

Less shares thy eternal breath.

Spirit of Nature! thou!
Imperishable as this scene,

Here is thy fitting temple.

To the wild ocean's echoing shore,
And thou hast lingered there,
Until the sun's broad orb
Seemed resting on the burnished

wave,

Thou must have marked the lines Of purple gold, that motionless

Hung o'er the sinking sphere: Thou must have marked the billowy clouds

Edged with intolerable radiancy
Towering like rocks of jet

Crowned with a diamond wreath.
And yet there is a moment,
When the sun's highest point

Peeps like a star o'er ocean's western

edge,

When those far clouds of feathery

gold,

Shaded with deepest purple, gleam
Like islands on a dark blue sea;

Then has thy fancy soared above the earth,

And furled its wearied wing
Within the Fairy's fane.

Yet not the golden islands
Gleaming in yon flood of light,
Nor the feathery curtains
Stretching o'er the sun's bright
couch,

Nor the burnished ocean waves
Paving that gorgeous dome,

So fair, so wonderful a sight
As Mab's ethereal palace could afford.
Yet likest evening's vault, that faery
Hall!

As Heaven, low resting on the wave, it spread

Its floors of flashing light,
Its vast and azure dome,
Its fertile golden islands
Floating on a silver sea;

Whilst suns their mingling beamings darted

Through clouds of circumambient dark.

ness,

And pearly battlements around Looked o'er the immense of Heaven.

Eternal nature's law.

The magic car no longer moved.

The Fairy and the Spirit
Entered the Hall of Spells :

Those golden clouds

That rolled in glittering billows
Beneath the azure canopy

With the ethereal footsteps trembled

not:

The light and crimson mists, Floating to strains of thrilling melody

Through that unearthly dwelling, Yielded to every movement of the will. Upon their passive swell the Spirit leaned,

And, for the varied bliss that pressed around,

Used not the glorious privilege

Of virtue and of wisdom.

Above, below, around
The circling systems formed
A wilderness of harmony;
Each with undeviating aim,

In eloquent silence, through the depths of space

Pursued its wondrous way.

There was a little light

That twinkled in the misty distance:
None but a spirit's eye

Might ken that rolling orb;
None but a spirit's eye,
And in no other place

But that celestial dwelling, might behold

Each action of this earth's inhabitants. But matter, space and time

In those aërial mansions cease to act; And all-prevailing wisdom, when it

reaps

The harvest of its excellence, o'erbounds Those obstacles, of which an earthly soul

Fears to attempt the conquest.

The Fairy pointed to the earth.
The Spirit's intellectual eye
Its kindred beings recognised.
The thronging thousands, to a passing
view,

Seemed like an anthill's citizens.
How wonderful! that even

The passions, prejudices, interests,
That sway the meanest being, the weak
touch

That moves the finest nerve,
And in one human brain

Causes the faintest thought, becomes a

link

In the great chain of nature.

Behold, the Fairy cried, Palmyra's ruined palaces!—

Behold! where grandeur frowned; Behold! where pleasure smiled; What now remains?- the memory Of senselessness and shameWhat is immortal there? Nothing-it stands to tell

A melancholy tale, to give An awful warning: soon Oblivion will steal silently

The remnant of its fame. Monarchs and conquerors there Proud o'er prostrate millions trodThe earthquakes of the human race; Like them, forgotten when the ruin

That marks their shock is past. Beside the eternal Nile, The Pyramids have risen. Nile shall pursue his changeless way:

Those pyramids shall fall; Yea! not a stone shall stand to tell The spot whereon they stood! Their very site shall be forgotten,

As is their builder's name!

Behold yon sterile spot;

Of nature and benevolence hath given
A special sanction to the trade of blood?
His name and theirs are fading, and the
tales

Of this barbarian nation, which impos

ture

Recites till terror credits, are pursuing
Itself into forgetfulness.
Where Athens, Rome, and Sparta
stood,

There is a moral desert now:
The mean and miserable huts,
The yet more wretched palaces,
Contrasted with those ancient fanes,
Now crumbling to oblivion;

The long and lonely colonnades,
Through which the ghost of Freedom
stalks,

Seem like a well-known tune,

Flaps in the desert-blast.

There once old Salem's haughty fane Reared high to heaven its thousand golden domes,

And in the blushing face of day Exposed its shameful glory. Oh! many a widow, many an orphan cursed

The building of that fane; and many a father,

Worn out with toil and slavery, implored The poor man's God to sweep it from the earth,

And spare his children the detested task
Of piling stone on stone, and poisoning
The choicest days of life,
To soothe a dotard's vanity.
There an inhuman and uncultured race
Howled hideous praises to their Demon-
God;

They rushed to war, tore from the
mother's womb
The unborn child,-old age and infancy
Promiscuous perished; their victorious

arms

Left not a soul to breathe. Oh! they were fiends:

But what was he who taught them that the God

Yet learn thou what he is; Yet learn the lofty destiny Which restless time prepares For every living soul.

Behold a gorgeous palace, that, amid Yon populous city, rears its thousand

towers

And seems itself a city. Gloomy troops Of sentinels, in stern and silent ranks, Encompass it around: the dweller there Cannot be free and happy; hearest thou

not

The curses of the fatherless, the groans Of those who have no friend? He

passes on:

The King, the wearer of a gilded chain That binds his soul to abjectness, the fool

Whom courtiers nickname monarch, whilst a slave

Even to the basest appetites-that man Heeds not the shriek of penury; he smiles

At the deep curses which the destitute Mutter in secret, and a sullen joy

Unfeeling, stubborn vice, converteth not Its food to deadliest venom; then that king

Is happy; and the peasant who fulfils His unforced task, when he returns at even,

And by the blazing faggot meets again Her welcome for whom all his toil is sped,

Tastes not a sweeter meal.

Behold him now Stretched on the gorgeous couch; his fevered brain

Reels dizzily awhile: but ah! too soon The slumber of intemperance subsides, And conscience, that undying serpent, calls

Her venomous brood to their nocturnal

Awful