Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
Untitled Article
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
Additionally, when viewing full transcripts, extracted text may not be in the same order as the original document.
But ye , oh ye , fair heavens ! for ever glow In the young" glory of your natal mom , When first the realms of space were bade to know Their starry kings , Creation ' s earliest born , Who should for aye on high yon sapphire thrones adorn . < f Shine on—shine on- ^ -ye radiant Thousand , shine ! Ye hosts of heaven , whose everlasting match Is one enduring triumph I Ye divine Memorials , on the amethystine arch Of Nature graven by God ! Oh ye who parcli The hearts of dust tfor what they may not know ; Tempting yon azure wilderness to search , As if some glad oasis there did glow—? ** »*****
< c Say , ye who shone on Zoroaster ' s eye , And lit the midnight towers of golden Tyre ; WTio smiled more purely , from a softer sky , On Helen ' grave and Homer ' s wakeful lyre ; Have ye known all , and must not man aspire To aught beyond him ? Shall no earthly ear Drink , at dim midnight , from your shining quire Empyreal music ? Can we not draw near And read the starry tale of yon mysterious sphere ?
" No , for the stam p of clay is on the brow—The fettered spirit yearns to soar in vain—And the ambition of man ' s thoughts must bow Beneath mortality ' s recoiling chain . Yet is it sweet , though we can ne ' er attain The prize we woo , the lofty race to run : What though it tempt to yon untrodden plain ? The eagle ' s burning goal can ne ' er be won—But he may pierce the clouds and feel the nearer sun !
" And this is much—for who would e ' er forego , Beautiful strangers 1 the delicious power To make his spirit in your glory glow , At solemn midnight's solitary hour—To woo the gentle heavens , with all their dower OF thought from immemorial Eld bequeath'd ? Yon high Elysium holds full many a flower With no Pierian laurel yet enwreathed—O that around my lyre one stieh its incense breathed !"
182 Dews of Castalie .