On soaring souls, that sail among the spheres;
And man how purblind, if unknown the whole!
Who circles spacious earth, then travels here,
Shall own, he never was from home before!
Come, my Prometheus,[56] from thy pointed rock
Of false ambition; if unchain’d, we’ll mount;
We’ll, innocently, steal celestial fire,
And kindle our devotion at the stars;
A theft, that shall not chain, but set thee free.
Above our atmosphere’s intestine[57] wars, 620