Creation's nothing; flatter'd much, if styled 1590 "The thin, the fleeting atmosphere of God." O for the voice--of what? of whom?--What voice Can answer to my wants, in such ascent, As dares to deem one universe too small? Tell me, Lorenzo! (for now fancy glows; Fired in the vortex of almighty power) Is not this home creation, in the map Of universal nature, as a speck, Like fair Britannia in our little ball; Exceeding fair, and glorious, for its size, 1600 But, elsewhere, far outmeasured, far outshone? In fancy (for the fact beyond us lies) Canst thou not figure it, an isle, almost Too small for notice, in the vast of being; Sever'd by mighty seas of unbuilt space From other realms; from ample continents Of higher life, where nobler natives dwell; 1607 Less northern, less remote from Deity, Glowing beneath the line of the Supreme; Where souls in excellence make haste, put forth Luxuriant growths; nor the late autumn wait Of human worth, but ripen soon to gods? Yet why drown fancy in such depths as these? Return, presumptuous rover! and confess The bounds of man; nor blame them, as too small. Enjoy we not full scope in what is seen? Pull ample the dominions of the sun! Full glorious to behold! How far, how wide, The matchless monarch, from his flaming throne, 1619 Lavish of lustre, throws his beams about him, Farther, and faster, than a thought can fly, And feeds his planets with eternal fires! This Heliopolis,[70] by greater far, Than the proud tyrant of the Nile, was built; And He alone, who built it, can destroy. Beyond this city, why strays human thought? One wonderful, enough for man to know! One infinite! enough for man to range! One firmament, enough for man to read! O what voluminous instruction here! 1630 What page of wisdom is denied him? None; If learning his chief lesson makes him wise. Nor is instruction, here, our only gain; There dwells a noble pathos in the skies, Which warms our passions, proselytes our hearts. How eloquently shines the glowing pole! With what authority it gives its charge, Remonstrating great truths in style sublime, Though silent, loud! heard earth around; above The planets heard; and not unheard in hell; 1640 Hell has her wonder, though too proud to praise. Is earth, then, more infernal? Has she those, Who neither praise (Lorenzo!) nor admire? Lorenzo's admiration, pre-engaged, Ne'er ask'd the moon one question; never held Least correspondence with a single star; Ne'er rear'd an altar to the Queen of Heaven Walking in brightness; or her train adored. Their sublunary rivals have long since Engross'd his whole devotion; stars malign, 1650 Which made the fond astronomer run mad; Darken his intellect, corrupt his heart;