What scenes, what beings bless’d your favour’d sight,
Severely grand, unutterably bright!
Triumphant spirits! your exulting eye
Could meet the noontide of eternity,
And gaze untired, undaunted, uncontroll’d,
On all that Fancy trembles to behold.
Bright on your view such forms their splendour shed
As burst on prophet-bards in ages fled:
Forms that to trace no hand but yours might dare,
Darkly sublime, or exquisitely fair;