Studded heaven's dark-blue vault,-
The eastern wave grew pale
With the first smile of morn.
The magic car moved on.
From the celestial hoofs

The atmosphere in flaming sparkles flew ;
And, where the burning wheels
Eddied above the mountain's loftiest peak,
Was traced a line of lightning.
Now far above a rock, the utmost verge
Of the wide earth, it flew---

The rival of the Andes, whose dark brow
Loured o'er the silver sea.

Far far below the chariot's path,
Calm as a slumbering babe,
Tremendous Ocean lay.

The mirror of its stillness showed
The pale and waning stars,
The chariot's fiery track,
And the grey light of morn
Tinging those fleecy clouds

That cradled in their folds the infant dawn.
The chariot seemed to fly

Through the abyss of an immense concave, Radiant with million constellations, tinged With shades of infinite colour,

And semicircled with a belt

Flashing incessant meteors.

The magic car moved on.

As they approached their goal, The coursers seemed to gather speed. The sea no longer was distinguished; earth Appeared a vast and shadowy sphere;

The sun's unclouded orb

Rolled through the black concave ;
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 heavens
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 dashed athwart with trains of flame,
Like worlds to death and ruin driven;
Some shone like stars, and, as the chariot passed,
Bedimmed 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 glorious scene!
Here is thy fitting temple!

II.

IF solitude hath ever led thy steps
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 braided webs of gold

That without motion hang

Over the sinking sphere:

Thou must have marked the billowy mountain-clouds Edged with intolerable radiancy,

Towering like rocks of jet
Above the burning deep.
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 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

That gleam amid yon flood of purple light
Nor the feathery curtains

That canopy the sun's resplendent couch,
Nor the burnished ocean-waves

Paving that gorgeous dome,

So fair, so wonderful a sight

As Mab's etherial palace could afford.

Yet likest evening's vault, that fairy hall.

As heaven low resting on the wave, it spread
Its floors of flashing light,

Its vast and azure dome;

And, on the verge of that obscure abyss
Where crystal battlements o'erhang the gulf
Of the dark world, ten thousand spheres diffuse
Their lustre thro' its adamantine gates.

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 etherial footsteps trembled not:

The light and crimson mists

Floated to strains of thrilling melody

Through the vast columns and the pearly shrines.

"Spirit," the Fairy said,

And pointed to the gorgeous dome,

"This is a wondrous sight,

And mocks all human grandeur;

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But, were it virtue's only meed to dwell
In a celestial palace, all resigned
To pleasurable impulses, immured
Within the prison of itself, the will

Of changeless Nature would be unfulfilled.
Learn to make others happy. Spirit, come!
This is thine high reward :-the past shall rise;
Thou shalt behold the present; I will teach
The secrets of the future."

The Fairy and the Spirit
Approached the overhanging battlement.—
Below lay stretched the universe.
There, far as the remotest line
That bounds imagination's flight,
Countless and unending orbs
In mazy motion intermingled,
Yet still fulfilled immutably
Eternal Nature's law.
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 recognized.

The thronging thousands, to a passing view, Seemed like an ant-hill'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 shame.
What 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 trod―
The 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,

Where now the wandering Arab's tent

Flaps in the desert-blast.

There once old Salem's haughty fane