Prologue.

That sun-eyed Power which stands sublime Upon the rock that crowns our globe, Her feet on all the spoils of time, With light eternal on her robe,

She, sovereign of the orb she guides, On Truth's broad sun may root a gaze That deepens, onward as she rides, And shrinks not from the fontal blaze:

But they--her daughter Arts--must hide Within the cleft, content to see Dim skirts of glory waving wide, And steps of parting Deity.

'Tis theirs to watch Religion break In types from Nature's frown or smile, The legend rise from out the lake, The relic consecrate the isle.

'Tis theirs to adumbrate and suggest; To point toward founts of buried lore; Leaving, in reverence, unexpressed What Man must know not, yet adore.

For where her court true Wisdom keeps, 'Mid loftier handmaids, one there stands Dark as the midnight's starry deeps, A Slave, gem-crowned, from Nubia's sands.

O thou whose light is in thy heart Love-taught Submission! without thee Science may soar awhile; but Art Drifts barren o'er a shoreless sea.