And night left still behind—and overhead
Wide heaven—and under me the spreading sea!—
A glorious vision, while the setting sun
Is lingering! Oh, to the spirit’s flight,
How faint and feeble are material wings!
Yet such our nature is, that when the lark,
High over us, unseen in the blue sky
Thrills his heart-piercing song, we feel ourselves
Press up from earth, as ’twere in rivalry;—
And when above the savage hill of pines,