Fill us with great ideas, full of heaven,
And antidote the pestilential earth!
In every storm, that either frowns, or falls,
What an asylum has the soul in prayer!
And what a fane[68] is this, in which to pray!
And what a God must dwell in such a fane!
Oh, what a genius must inform the skies!
And is Lorenzo’s salamander heart
Cold, and untouch’d, amid these sacred fires?
O ye nocturnal sparks! ye glowing embers, 1360