Shook sudden from the bosom of the sky,
A thousand shapes or glide athwart the dusk,
Or stalk majestick on. Arous'd, I feel
A sacred terror, and severe delight,
Creep thro' my mortal frame; and thus, methinks,
Those accents murmur'd in th' abstracted ear,
Pronounce distinct.  "Be not of us afraid,
" Poor kindred man, thy fellow-creatures, we
"From the same  our beings drew,
" The, same our  and laws, and great pursuit.
"Once some of us, like thee, thro' stormy life,
" Toil'd, tempest-beaten, e'er we could attain
"This holy calm, this harmony of mind,
" Where purity and peace immingle charms.
"Then fear us not; but with responsive song,
" Oft in these dim recesses, undisturb'd
"By noisy folly, and discordant vice,
" Of nature sing with us, and nature's
"And frequent at the middle waste of night,
" Or all day long, in desarts still, are heard,
"Now here, now there, now wheeling in mid-sky,
" Around, or underneath, aerial sounds,
"Sent from angelic harps, and voices join'd.
" A happiness bestow'd by us, alone,
"On contemplation, or the hallow'd ear
" Of Poet, swelling to seraphic strain. "