Her cloud capped hills o'er rocks and rills, That proudly seem to stand, Now fade like gleams in passing dreams Of lovely fairy land.
Yet on we mount to the drainless fount, Of wild tempestuous storms; And our fairy shrouds now kiss the clouds; In all their varied forms.
Proud man, who at birth was king of the earth, Soon made himself lord of the sea; And now we arise to empyrean skies, For kings of the air are we.
Grim centuries old to the past have rolled, Since the stars from chaos-woke; Yet no earth-born sound hath this deep, profound And solemn silence broke.
The highest note of the lark ne'er floats To this region of sunless cloud; Nor hath eagle bird the silence stir'd, With his screaming, shrill and loud.
Yet our joyous song, as we sweep along In pathless realms afloat, Rings on the air and trembles there, From out our fairy boat.
On eddying waves a thousand caves, Where Aerial spirits throng, Repeat each tone as though they'd known Our unfamiliar song.
O'er billowy seas with fresh'ning breeze, 'Tis glorious oft to roam; And joy to mark a graceful bark, Divide the salt sea foam:
And joy to wake at morning break, When huntsman's bugle sounds, And gaily lead on fiery steed, In chase of deer and hounds.
But moonlight sail with fresh'ning gale, Or merry chase afar, Can ne'er compare with flight through air, In our Aerial Car.