Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose;
Doom’d on his airy path awhile to burn,
And doom’d, like thee, to travel and return.
Campbell.
A Heaven as bright, as blue, as mild, as calm,
As thine own eye; the sun hath passed away,
But left his mantle of transparent light
To deck the gorgeous west, amid whose bright
And purple depths I see a floating speck
Of purest white, and now ’tis fixed, and now