To incantations dost thou trust, And pompous rites in domes august? See mouldering stones and metal’s rust Belie the vaunt, That man can bless one pile of dust With chime or chaunt. The ticking wood-worm mocks thee, man! Thy temples—creeds themselves grow wan! But there’s a dome of nobler span, A temple given Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban— Its space is Heaven! Its roof star-pictured Nature’s ceiling, Where trancing the rapt spirit’s feeling, And God himself to man revealing The harmonious spheres Make music, though unheard their pealing By mortal ears. Fair stars! are not your beings pure? Can sin, can death your worlds obscure? Else why so swell the thoughts at your Aspect above? Ye must be Heaven’s that make us sure Of heavenly love! And in your harmony sublime I read the doom of distant time; That man’s regenerate soul from crime Shall yet be drawn, And reason on his mortal clime Immortal dawn. What’s hallowed ground? ’Tis what gives birth To sacred thoughts in souls of worth!— Peace! Independence! Truth! go forth Earth’s compass round; And your high priesthood shall make earth _All hallowed ground_. CAROLINE. PART I. I’ll bid the hyacinth to blow, I’ll teach my grotto green to be; And sing my true love all below The holly bower and myrtle tree. There all his wild-wood sweets to bring, The sweet South wind shall wander by, And with the music of his wing Delight my rustling canopy. Come to my close and clustering bower Thou spirit of a milder clime, Fresh with the dews of fruit and flower, Of mountain heath, and moory thyme. With all thy rural echoes come, Sweet comrade of the rosy day, Wafting the wild bee’s gentle hum, Or cuckoo’s plaintive roundelay. Where’er thy morning breath has played, Whatever isles of ocean fanned, Come to my blossom-woven shade, Thou wandering wind of fairy-land. For sure from some enchanted isle, Where Heaven and Love their sabbath hold, Where pure and happy spirits smile, Of beauty’s fairest, brightest mould: From some green Eden of the deep, Where Pleasure’s sigh alone is heaved, Where tears of rapture lovers weep, Endeared, undoubting, undeceived; From some sweet paradise afar, Thy music wanders, distant, lost— Where Nature lights her leading star, And love is never, never crossed. Oh gentle gale of Eden bowers, If back thy rosy feet should roam, To revel with the cloudless Hours In Nature’s more propitious home. Name to thy loved Elysian groves, That o’er enchanted spirits twine, A fairer form than cherub loves, And let the name be CAROLINE. CAROLINE. PART II. TO THE EVENING STAR. Gem of the crimson-coloured Even, Companion of retiring day, Why at the closing gates of Heaven, Belovèd star dost thou delay?