It seems, it seems, sailing in splendid state
Athwart the stretches of the skyey blue.
Yet what might be the fleet-winged wanderer's fate.
Did either pinion fail? Its flight is true
Only when level buoyed upon the plumy two.
"A shaft of light upon its wings descended.
And every golden feather gleamed therein."
Ay! and their fate's inextricably blended;
Let either faint or flag, they shall not win
Athwart the aërial azure clear and thin.