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150 Ye kings of suns and stars, Dæmons and Gods, Ætherial Dominations, who possess Elysian, windless, fortunate abodes Beyond Heaven's constellated wilderness:

Our great Republic hears, we are blest, and bless.

Ye happy dead, whom beams of brightest verse Are clouds to hide, not colours to pourtray, Whether your nature is that universe Which once ye saw and suffered—

Or as they Whom we have left, we change and pass away.

Ye elemental Genii, who have homes From man's high mind even to the central stone Of sullen lead; from Heaven's star-fretted domes To the dull weed some sea-worm battens on: