born.
"We will away to the cave of Night,
"And wake the echoes to sudden fright,
"And then we'll wander among the stars
"And mark the roll of their golden cars?"--
"Spirit! I'll go with thee through the sky,
"For my soul pants ever to soar on high,
"If thou wilt bear me upon thy wings,
"And guide me amid our bright wanderings."

Swiftly we went through the sunny air,
Higher than ever the skylark dare,
And the bright clouds where the summer beams
Slumber and revel in golden dreams,
Lay far beneath us like dewy fumes
Hovering over the flower-blooms.
Higher we went till the puny Earth
Dwindled away to an atom girth,
And the record of our rapid way
Was the far death of a starry ray;
Then we drew nigh to the palace bright
Where morning treasures her dewy light,
Cool'd by the breath of the angels' wings,
And sweet with their musical utterings.
There we saw the young day-beams awaken,
And the earth's rays from their soft tresses shaken,
And there we saw the sweet zephyrs rise,
That woo the flowers with gentle sighs,
And kiss the mist from the streamlet's tide,
As tears are kiss'd from a happy bride;
The angels of Joy and bliss were there,
Lapt in the folds of the balmy air,
Breathing their paeans till far away
The echoes went with the light of day;
The spirit said, "Hence the ray of morn,
"Like a poor child unto sorrow born,
"Wends to the earth with sweet smiles uplit,
"And from the darkness awakens it;
"But though it whisper of peace and love,
"And tell the world of the joys above,
"They will not hearken unto the voice
"Whose accents faint make the flowers rejoice,
"But still grovel on in strife and sorrow,
"And make the signal of war, 'the morrow.'"
Onward we went through the heavens afar
Swift as the course of a shooting star,
Until dark shadows began to fall
Around our way, like a funeral pall,
Deeper and deeper, and then the gloom
Grew thick as it were the Night's own tomb;
There was no sound save the rushing wave
Closing the furrow our passing clave;
There was no sound save the beating heart,
That at its own throbbings seemed to start;
There was no sound save the ebb and flow
Of my own breathing drawn long and low;
Then the air-spirit gave forth a cry
That rang through the arches of the sky,
Whereat a myriad echoes leapt
Forth from the darkness 'mid which they slept,
Shouted an answ