For this low sphere, this vale of clouds and sighs?
O thou, Canova! soaring high above
Italian art—with Grecian magic vying!
We knew thy marble glow’d with life and love,
But who had seen thee image footsteps flying?
Here to each eye the wind seems gently playing
With the light vest, its wavy folds arraying
In many a line of undulating grace;
While Nature, ne’er her mighty laws suspending,
Stands, before marble thus with motion blending,