Which there expatiates, strengthens, and exults,
And riots through the luxuries of thought.
Call it, the garden of the Deity,

Blossom'd with stars, redundant in the growth
Of fruit ambrosial; moral fruit to man.
Call it, the breast-plate of the true High-Priest,
Ardent with gems oracular, that give,

In points of highest moment, right response;
And ill neglected, if we prize our peace.
Thus have we found a true astrology;
Thus have we found a new, and noble sense,
In which alone stars govern human fates.
O that the stars (as some have feign'd) let fall
Bloodshed, and havock, on embattled realms,
And rescued monarchs from so black a guilt!
Bourbon! this wish how generous in a foe! [God,
Wouldst thou be great, wouldst thou become a
And stick thy deathless name among the stars,
For mighty conquests on a needle's point?
Instead of forging chains for foreigners,
Bastile thy tutor : grandeur all thy aim?
As yet thou know'st not what it is: how great,
How glorious, then, appears the mind of man,
When in it all the stars, and planets, roll!
And what it seems, it is: great objects make
Great minds, enlarging as their views enlarge;
Those still more godlike, as these more divine.

And more divine than these, thou canst not see. Dazzled, o'er-power'd, with the delicious draught Of miscellaneous splendours, how I reel

From thought to thought, inebriate, without end! An Eden, this! a Paradise unlost!

I meet the Deity in every view,

And tremble at my nakedness before him!
O that I could but reach the tree of life!
For here it grows, unguarded from our taste;
No flaming sword denies our entrance here;
Would man but gather, he might live for ever.

Lorenzo! much of moral hast thou seen.

Of curious arts art thou more fond? Then mark
The mathematic glories of the skies,

In number, weight, and measure, all ordain'd.
Lorenzo's boasted builders, chance, and fate,
Are left to finish his aërial towers;

Wisdom and choice, their well-known characters
Here deep impress; and claim it for their own.
Though splendid all, no splendour void of use;
Use rivals beauty; art contends with power;
No wanton waste, amid effuse expense;
The great economist adjusting all
To prudent pomp, magnificently wise.
How rich the prospect! and for ever new!
And newest to the man that views it most;
For newer still in infinite succeeds.

Then, these aërial racers,. O how swift!

How the shaft loiters from the strongest string!
Spirit alone can distance the career,

Orb above orb ascending without end!
Circle in circle, without end, enclos'd!

Wheel, within wheel; Ezekiel! like to thine!
Like thine, it seems a vision or a dream;
Though seen, we labour to believe it true!
What involution! what extent! what swarms
Of worlds, that laugh at Earth! immensely great!

Immensely distant from each other's spheres!

What, then, the wondrous space through which they roll?

At once it quite ingulfs all human thought; 'T is comprehension's absolute defeat.

Nor think thou seest a wild disorder here;
Through this illustrious chaos to the sight,
Arrangement neat, and chastest order, reign.
The path prescrib'd, inviolably kept,
Upbraids the lawless sallies of mankind.
Worlds, ever thwarting, never interfere;

What knots are ty'd! How soon are they dissolv'd,
And set the seeming marry'd planets free!
They rove for ever, without errour rove;
Confusion unconfus'd! nor less admire
This tumult untumultuous; all on wing!
In motion, all! yet what profound repose!
What fervid action, yet no noise! as aw'd
To silence by the presence of their Lord;
Or hush'd by his command in love to man,
And bid let fall soft beams on human rest,
Restless themselves. On yon cerulean plain,
In exultation to their God, and thine,
They dance, they sing eternal jubilee,
Eternal celebration of his praise.

But, since their song arrives not at our ear,
Their dance perplex'd exhibits to the sight
Fair hieroglyphic of his peerless power.
Mark, how the labyrinthian turns they take,
The circles intricate, and mystic maze,
Weave the grand cypher of Omnipotence;
To Gods, how great! how legible to man!

Leaves so much wonder greater wonder still? Where are the pillars that support the skies? What more than Atlantean shoulder props

Th' incumbent load? what magic, what strange art,
In fluid air these ponderous orbs sustains?

Who would not think them hung in golden chains?
And so they are; in the high will of Heaven,
Which fixes all; makes adamant of air,
Or air of adamant; makes all of nought,
Or nought of all; if such the dread decree.
Imagine from their deep foundations torn
The most gigantic sons of Earth, the broad
And towering Alps, all tost into the sea;
And, light as down, or volatile as air,
Their bulks enormous, dancing on the waves,
In time, and measure, exquisite; while all
The winds, in emulation of the spheres,
Tune their sonorous instruments aloft;
The concert swell, and animate the ball.
Would this appear amazing? What, then, worlds,
In a far thinner element sustain'd,

And acting the same part, with greater skill,
More rapid movement, and for noblest ends?
More obvious ends to pass, are not these stars
The seats majestic, proud imperial thrones,
On which angelic delegates of Heaven,
At certain periods, as the Sovereign nods,
Discharge high trusts of vengeance, or of love;
To clothe, in outward grandeur, grand design,
And acts most solemn still more solemnize?
Ye citizens of air! what ardent thanks,
What full effusion of the grateful heart,

Is due from man indulg'd in such a sight!
A sight so noble! and a sight so kind!

It drops new truths at every new survey!
Feels not Lorenzo something stir within,

That sweeps away all period? As these spheres
Measure duration, they no less inspire

The godlike hope of ages without end.

[take

The boundless space, through which these rovers
Their restless roam, suggests the sister-thought
Of boundless time. Thus, by kind Nature's skill,
To man unlabour'd, that important guest,
Eternity, finds entrance at the sight :
And an eternity, for man ordain'd,
Or these his destin'd midnight counsellors,
The stars, had never whisper'd it to man.
Nature informs, but ne'er insults, her sons.
Could she then kindle the most ardent wish
To disappoint it? That is blasphemy.
Thus, of thy creed a second article,
Momentous, as the existence of a God,

Is found (as I conceive) where rarely sought:
And thou mayst read thy soul immortal, here.
Here, then, Lorenzo! on these glories dwell;
Nor want the guilt-illuminated roof,

That calls the wretched gay to dark delights.
Assemblies? This is one divinely bright;

Here, unendanger'd in health, wealth, or fame,
Range through the fairest, and the Sultan scorn.
He, wise as thou, no crescent holds so fair,
As that, which on his turban awes a world;
And thinks the Moon is proud to copy him.
Look on her, and gain more than worlds can give,