It cleave the limits of immensity.

Yet now the soul will shake its fetters off,

And yearn unto the freedom of the skies,

Like a poor bird whose life is liberty.

Yon star, methinks, must be a glorious world,

Where Nature hath a spiritual life

And bloometh on in Spring perpetual,

Unsatiating in its loveliness.

Verdure of herb and leafy plenitude

Spread o'er it like a vesture, and the glow

Of sunlit waters smiling from afar,

Half as in fancy, half reality.

The skies above it glassy and serene

As the reflection of its own repose,

[Pg 22]

And every new alternation of the light

Shedding new beauties on the scene below.

Thus far in fashion, kin to Earth as Time

Beareth the impress of Eternity,

But differing henceforth as the gentle dove

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