And though with glory mantled, and severe
In his own fulness of beatitude,
Yet mourn’d for those whose spirits from thy ray
Caught not one transient spark of intellectual day.
XXIII.
But earth had deeper stains. Ethereal powers!
Benignant seraphs! wont to leave the skies,
And hold high converse, midst his native bowers,
With the once glorious son of Paradise,
Look’d ye from heaven in sadness! were your strains