When in the musing heart we trace
Whate'er we fashion with the hand.
From the fir the fagot take,
Keep it, heap it hard and dry,
That the gather'd flame may break
Through the furnace, wroth and high.
Smolt the copper within—
Quick—the brass with the tin,
That the glutinous fluid that feeds the Bell
May flow in the right course glib and well.