Proud temple-domes, with galleries winding high,
So vast in space, so just in symmetry,
They widen to the contemplating eye,
With colonnaded aisles in long array,
And windows that enrich the flood of day
O’er tesselated pavements, pictures fair,
And nichèd statues breathing golden air.
Nor there, whilst all that’s seen bids Fancy swell,
Shall Music’s voice refuse to seal the spell;
But choral hymns shall wake enchantment round,