Hast thou! whose gorgeous wings display
Each vary’d tint that drinks the day,
More bright than drops of orient dew,
More gay than flow’rs of gaudiest hue,
With purple edg’d, and fring’d with gold,
Like light, too splendid to behold!
Hast thou, an abject worm like me,
Crawl’d prone on earth! it cannot be.”
“Oh! cease the doubts,” the Stranger cry’d,
“To faith thy happiness ally’d—