Page:The Siege of Valencia.pdf/44

LXXIV.

'Tis a proud vision—that most regal pile
Of ancient days!—The lamps are streaming bright
From its rich altar, down each pillar'd aisle,
Whose vista fades in dimness; but the sight
Is lost in splendours, as the wavering light
Developes, on those walls, the thousand dyes
Of the vein'd marbles, which array their height,
And from yon dome^16[1], the lode-star of all eyes,

Pour such an iris-glow as emulates the skies.

LXXV.

But gaze thou not on these; though heaven's own hues,
In their soft clouds and radiant tracery vie;
Though tints, of sun-born glory, may suffuse
Arch, column, rich mosaic: pass thou by
The stately tombs, where eastern Cæsars lie,
Beneath their trophies; pause not here, for know,
A deeper source of all sublimity
Lives in man's bosom, than the world can show,

In nature or in art, above, around, below.