Ii

Beneath the shadow of his purple wings Rested a golden harp;--he touched the strings; And, after prelude of unearthly sound Poured through the echoing hills around, He sang-- "No wintry desolations, Scorching blight or noxious dew, Affect my native habitations; Buried in glory, far beyond the scope Of man's inquiring gaze, but to his hope Imaged, though faintly, in the hue Profound of night's ethereal blue; And in the aspect of each radiant orb:-- Some fixed, some wandering with no timid curb: But wandering star and fixed, to mortal eye, Blended in absolute serenity, And free from semblance of decline;-- Fresh as if Evening brought their natal hour, Her darkness splendour gave, her silence power, To testify of Love and Grace divine.