That frail Mortality may see—
What is?—ah no, but what can be!
Time was when field and watery cove
With modulated echoes rang,
While choirs of fervent Angels sang
Their vespers in the grove;[329]
Or, crowning, star-like, each some sovereign height,[330]
Warbled, for heaven above and earth below,
Strains, suitable to both.—Such holy rite,
Methinks, if audibly repeated now