42. When, like lobster boiled, the morn

From black to red begins to turn.

Butler—Hudibras.

43. When in mid air, on seraph wing,

The paly moon is journeying

In stillest paths of stainless blue.

Keen, curious stars are peering through

Heaven's arch this hour; they dote on her

With perfect love, nor can she stir

Within her vaulted halls apace,