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The Spirit felt the Fairy's burning speech.
 * O'er the thin texture of its frame,

The varying periods painted changing glows,
 * As on a summer even,

When soul-enfolding music floats around,
 * The stainless mirror of the lake
 * Re-images the eastern gloom,

Mingling convulsively its purple hues
 * With sunset's burnished gold.


 * Then thus the Spirit spoke:

It is a wild and miserable world!
 * Thorny, and full of care,

Which every fiend can make his prey at will.
 * O Fairy! in the lapse of years,
 * Is there no hope in store?
 * Will yon vast suns roll on
 * Interminably, still illuming
 * The night of so many wretched souls,
 * And see no hope for them?

Will not the universal Spirit e'er Revivify this withered limb of Heaven?