No vapour stretched its wings; no cloud
Cast far or near a murky shroud;
The sky an azure field displayed;
'Twas sunlight sheathed and gently charmed,
Of all its sparkling rays disarmed,
And as in slumber laid,--
Or something night and day between,
Like moonshine--but the hue was green;
Still moonshine, without shadow, spread
On jutting rock, and curved shore,
Where gazed the peasant from his door
And on the mountain's head.
But Fancy with the speed of fire
Hath passed to Milan's loftiest spire,
And there alights 'mid that aerial host
Of Figures human and divine,
White as the snows of Apennine
Indurated by frost.
Awe-stricken she beholds the array
That guards the Temple night and day;
Angels she sees--that might from heaven have flown,
And Virgin-saints, who not in vain
Have striven by purity to gain
The beatific crown--
Sees long-drawn files, concentric rings
Each narrowing above each;--the wings,
The uplifted palms, the silent marble lips
The starry zone of sovereign height--
All steeped in this portentous light!
All suffering dim eclipse!
Thus after Man had fallen (if aught
These perishable spheres have wrought
May with that issue be compared)
Throngs of celestial visages,
Darkening like water in the breeze,
A holy sadness shared.
I ask in vain--and know far less
If sickness, sorrow, or distress
Have spared my Dwelling to this hour;
Sad blindness! but ordained to prove
Our faith in Heaven's unfailing love
And all-controlling power.