CANTO i. PRODUCTION OF LIFE. 7 



Round the firm base loud-howling whirlwinds blow, 

 And sands in burning eddies dance below. 



Hence ye profane ! the warring winds exclude 

 Unhallow'd throngs, that press with footstep rude; 

 But court the Muse's train with milder skies, 

 And call with softer voice the good and wise. 

 Charm'd at her touch the opening wall divides, 

 And rocks of crystal form the polish'd sides; 

 Through the bright arch the Loves and Graces tread, 

 Innocuous thunders murmuring o'er their head; 6O 

 Pair after pair, and tittering, as they pass, 

 View their fair features in the walls of glass ; 

 Leave with impatient step the circling bourn, 

 And hear behind the closing rocks return. 



HERE, high in air, unconscious of the storm, 

 Thy temple, NATURE, rears it's mystic form; 

 From earth to heav'n, unwrought by mortal toil, 

 Towers the vast fabric on the desert soil; 



