And other birds of prey, with rav’nous maw: The falcon, stooping o’er his quarry weak; The vulture, horrid bird, neck bare they saw, Scenting the air his carrion foul to seek, And glut on entrails with his tearing beak; Like that fierce bird Prometheus cruel found, That gnawed his heart, and did its vengeance wreak, Upon his agonizing victim bound That ever fed, and found new flesh at every wound. CLXXVII. Lo! now bright Sol had risen high, and strong The mountains crimsoned o’er were capp’d with gold; O’er tow’r and tree the radiance stole along, Swept o’er the vale, while wave empurpled roll’d; And nature smiled, her glories to unfold; The warbling choir at heav’n’s gate did sing; The air, with teeming life rejoicing, told Of insects’ jubilee, and their off’ring, That bask in sunny ray, or spread the burnished wing. CLXXVIII. The zenith pass’d, the glorious orb of day, His sloping wheels fast hast’ning to the west, Dispreads his gorgeous vestment’s gold array, Swift hurrying on his fiery team to rest, The goal to reach, fair islands of the blest; A voice went up from ocean, earth, and air, In pæons heard spontaneous loud addrest, That fill’d th’ empyrean vast with acclaim clear: Oh! would but thankless man record the Giver’s care. CLXXIX. Yet what sublimer can enchant the sight, Or can with its magnificence compare Its evening setting and its morning light, Of which mankind its daily glories share, Nor sees the Hand that guides the blazing sphere, That up the shining way treads like a god, Diurnal seen, if seen with brutish stare, Nor aught attracts beyond this earthly clod, Their being’s end and aim is dormouse-like to plod. CLXXX. But lo! the shadows dim like pale ghosts rise, That warns we should descend this promont’ry, And gain yon tow’r, just seen beneath the skies In twilight gloom of deep solemnity; The air breathes still as silence seated by, That suits our purpose o’er the heav’ns to gaze: There trace the Hand that spreads the stars on high, Man’s noblest thoughts in adoration raise, And in the wond’rous search his great Creator praise. CLXXXI. They eftsoons gained that gray-worn lonely tow’r, Whose spiral stone-flight they ’gan quick ascend; Led by the bard, they reached its secret bow’r, Where nightly watchers of the stars oft wend, And night with ebon wand his rites attend, Joined with Hecâte, solemn mysteries keep; Here the pale lamp its glim’ring flame did lend, Faint to illume th’ apartment high and steep, Where starry science oft pursued her studies deep. CLXXXII.