224 
©ru. 
What peremptory, eagle-sighted eye 
Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, 
That is not blinded by her majesty ? 
Shaksjpeare. 
The glorious sun 
Stays in his course, and plays the alchymist, 
Turning, with splendour of his precious eye, 
The meagre, cloddy earth to glittering gold. 
Shakspeare. 
No! I shall never lose the trace, 
Of what Fve felt in this bright place; 
And should my spirit’s hope grow weak,— 
Should I, 0 God! forget thy power. 
This mighty scene again I’ll seek, 
At the same calm and glowing hour; 
And here at the sublimest shrine 
That nature ever reared to thee, 
Eekindle all that hope divine, 
i And feel my immortality 1 
Moore. 
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