But let me quit Man's works, again to read

His Maker's, spread around me, and suspend

This page, which from my reveries I feed,

Until it seems prolonging without end.

The clouds above me to the white Alps tend,

And I must pierce them, and survey whate'er[347]

May be permitted, as my steps I bend

To their most great and growing region, where

The earth to her embrace compels the powers of air.