They are of the sky,
And from our earthly memory fade away.
THESE words were utter'd in a pensive mood,
Even while mine eyes were on that solemn sight:
A contrast and reproach to gross delight,
And life's uinspiritual pleasures daily woo'd !
But now upon this thought I cannot brood :
It is unstable, and deserts me quite;
Nor will I praise a cloud, however bright,
Disparaging man's gifts, and proper food.
The grove, the sky.built temple, and the dome,
Though clad in colours beautiful and pure,
Find in the heart of man no natural home :
The immortal mind craves objects that endure;
These cleave to it; from these it cannot roam,
Nor they from it; their fellowship is secure.
Printed by J. F. Dove, St. John's Square,