Of glory’s clarion when Bozzaris fell,—
Thus knew his human fancies grow divine,
And poured their spirit o’er the happy line.
Yet not alone the sons of song can feel
This joy along the grateful senses steal.
To him who, musing, waits at Nature’s throne,
And feels, at last, her wealth become his own,
Then with the priceless gold, thought, passion, heart,
And feeling, tempers to the test of art,
Blends these with poesy’s mysterious spell