For but by glimpses mortals may behold it;
And these seem far too glorious for one thought
Of dull oblivion ever to intrude
On the rapt vision. Not a shadow there
From gloomy Hades clouds the living light
That glances gaily down the rippling stream.
But past description’s power, ’tis loud and bright
With trumpet voices, and with silken sails
Full-blown with Fortune’s breath; while from the bank
Hope lifts her siren strain, and bids them speed