15
The ponderous gates, the threshold, and the wall,
Cast in Vulcanian mould, were iron all:
Pyracmon, Steropes, had ne'er bestowed
Such toil aforetime on a God's abode;
Nor e'er such blasts, by such a force impell'd,
The strong pulsations of the bellows swell'd;
Nor so, mid sparkling shower, and fiery gleam,
The wearied furnace pour'd its molten stream.
Pure ivory deck'd its courts, its roof was brass,
With columns tall electrum propt the mass.
Within they hear the Maiden's tuneful strain,
Who weaves a gift—alas! prepared in vain—
To greet her Mother, when she comes again.
Creation's germs, and her paternal skies,
Well taught to trace, the busy needle flies:
It marks the order, which the Primal Cause
First gave to Chaos by unerring laws.
There every atom finds its place aright,
There sink the heavy, and there soar the light;
The burning ether whirls the circling pole,
The earth suspended rests, the ambient waters roll.
In bright profusion varied hues combine,
With gold the stars, the waves with purple shine;
