II. 1.
Thou spak’st, and lo! a new creation glow’d.
Each unhewn mass of living stone
Was clad in horrors not its own,
And at its base the trembling nations bow’d.
Giant Error, darkly grand,
Grasp’d the globe with iron hand.
Circled with seats of bliss, the Lord of Light
Saw prostrate worlds adore his golden height.
The statue, waking with immortal powers,[[10]]
Springs from its parent earth, and shakes the spheres;
The indignant pyramid sublimely towers,
And braves the efforts of a host of years.
Sweet Music breathes her soul into the wind;
And bright-ey’d Painting stamps the image of the mind.