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'Twas a sweet time for Nesace – for there Her world lay lolling on the golden air, Near four bright suns – a temporary rest – A garden-spot in desert of the blest. Away – away – 'mid seas of rays that roll Empyrean splendor o'er th' unchained soul – The soul that scarce (the billows are so dense) Can struggle to its destin'd eminence, – To distant spheres, from time to time, she rode And late to ours, the favor'd one of God – But, now, the ruler of an anchor'd realm, She throws aside the sceptre – leaves the helm, And, amid incense and high spiritual hymns, Laves in quadruple light her angel limbs.

Now happiest, loveliest in yon lovely Earth, Whence sprang the "Idea of Beauty" into birth, (Falling in wreaths thro' many a startled star, Like woman's hair 'mid pearls, until, afar, It lit on hills Achaian, and there dwelt) She looked into Infinity – and knelt. Rich clouds, for canopies, about her curled – Fit emblems of the model of her world –