‘Shall nature bound to earth’s diurnal span
The fire of God, the immortal soul of man?’
“Turn, child of Heaven, thy rapture-lightened eye
To Wisdom’s walks, the sacred Nine are nigh:
Hark! from bright spires that gild the Delphian height,
From streams that wander in eternal light,
Ranged on their hill, Harmonia’s daughters swell
The mingling tones of horn, and harp, and shell;
Deep from his vaults, the Loxian murmurs flow,[9]
And Pythia’s awful organ peals below.