oblivious balm bestow,
    Infuse this frailty with thy glorious might,
    And blind with beauty to the mortal blight.
Not even wilful love possessed me, when,
    Behold, thy spirit stole upon my sight
And ravished me—What wonder that my ken
Forsook this little world of vanity and men?

And howsoe'er it seemed at other times
    To my imperfect and diseasèd mind,
Which darkened with the shadow of men's crimes
    Thy virtue, fancying in thee to find
    Reflection of the ills that shake mankind,
Though on me now a tempest broke and war
    Convulsed the elements, I would perceive behind,
Law, harmony, and purpose—That falling star
Seems sped to be the sun of new-formed worlds afar.

And yet the scene was such as often shares
    The obscurest soul—no wondrous rarity,—
The slender maples holding to the stars
    Their outstretched arms, as praying silently—
    A sea of stars—a dancing, dazzling sea,
Tremendous, mighty, infinite, supreme,
    Emblem of Might, Eternity's decree,
Half crediting the mythologic dream
And making of heaven th' abode that vulgar fancies deem.

A common scene, perchance, but, to the mind
    Which Nature hath enlightened with her ray
Nothing in her is common.—Not confined,
    Her beauty, to the sparkle and the play
    Of solitary spring, or rare bouquet
Of tropic flowers; she hath grandeur more
    Than crowns the mighty peaks of Himalay,
Or hurtles in the great Niagara's roar.
To me one beam of light can bring a priceless store.

Nay, more; the mind wherein her fulness dwells
    Can beauty and sublimity instil
In all created things, till it excels
    Even herself, though nurtured at her rill.
    The mind may be a monarch if it will,
And that of which great Nature is the nurse
    May rule itself, subjecting every ill,
And be the Sun, all phantoms to disperse,
And scatter glory round—Lord of the Universe.

What matter whether mortals own his sway?
    He knows his kingdom is not of this world;
It is within—perchance some purer day
    Will see the standard of his soul unfurled,
    When Good, surviving, sees the Evil hurled
To final dissolution, and the force
    Of worlds no longer round their centres whirled
Shall all combine and gather to the source,
To serve some nobler end—if such shall have recourse.

Rapt in the purple transport of a god,
    Pacing the ether with star-treading stride,
With conscious power, imperial purpose shod,
    And iris-crowned with radiating pride,
    I seemed to move—nay, move—what throbbing side,
Intenses immortality! what brow
    Thrills with severe conception!—deified,
As Pallas sprung.—Such did the gods allow—
I fear 'tis half a sin to tell what I do now.

If fire be stolen from Heaven, it is not
    The theft consigns the mortal to the shock
Of the Olympian vengeance; such the lot
    Of him whose earthly pride prepares the rock
    And taints the air where the penal vultures flock,
Whose after-weakness welds the fettering chain;
    Then gods despise and fellow mortals mock.
And here return me to the theme I've ta'en,
And sing the simple labors of the humble swain.

Their voices told they gave me welcome warm,
    Though oft their faces I can scarcely see,
For steam-clouds now atween us rise and swarm,
    And, rolling upward, find their vent in glee,
    Like more—alas!—too eager to be free,
Who fear to go, yet shudder to remain.
    Shall mortal spirits