Nought of the stir—the strife—the mental war— 65
Of that vast Babylon, scarce seen afar;
Where on the blue horizon’s distant verge,
Its cloudy breath floats like a rolling surge;
And in dim majesty its sacred dome,
As it would rise to seek a purer home, 70
Soaring sublime above the denser sky—
A type of Time and Immortality!—
Beams through the yellow mist, and brings again
The dreams of splendour—affluence—pleasure—gain.