His destined path preserves, obeys.
And still in thunder rolls along.'
Shelley writes:—
'The sun makes music as of old
Amid the rival spheres of Heaven,
On its predestined circle rolled
With thunder speed.'
Again, let us place in parallel the final lines of Raphael's song. Taylor:—
'The lofty works, uncomprehended,
Are bright as on the earliest day.'