For I had often seen him rise
In splendor up the golden skies,
With varied clouds, around to curl,
Like hues that paint the mother-pearl.
And I remember’d, true and well,
His glory, o’er the Ocean’s swell,
When oft, beneath his path of fire,
The sea’s calm bosom would respire,
Or bid each foam-capp’d ocean sprite
Leap up, and clap his wild delight.