That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own.
Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.
Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The vision and the faculty divine; Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse.