Page:Translations (1834).djvu/173

Alas for this dull nether earth!
Not e’en its elves can range
In such an ecstasy of mirth,
Of glamourie and change,
As those wild elves in azure tent—
Those fairies of the firmament!
Their only task by night or day
On yonder arch serene,
To mock the pomp and pride that play
O’er this sublimer scene!
Swords, cities, thrones, the wealth of Ind—
All rise and vanish with the wind!
And now they seem an angel stair
Of gossamer—unfurl’d
The vexed and wounded soul to bear
From this unquiet world!
And now, in storm and darkness driv’n,
They heave the thunderbolt of heav’n!
Oh! could the poet choose a vest
For her who has his heart,
He would not glean from ocean’s crest,
Nor yet the hues impart,
That spread in glory and in mirth,
In summer o’er the laughing earth!
No! rather would he wildly climb
To steal their mantle hoar,
From yon fair stars that shine sublime
On heav’n’s eternal shore!
Nought but the robes of heav’n above
Are worthy of the poet’s love!

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