The massy fane of architecture olden,
Or fretted minarets of marble white,
Or Moorish arabesque begemm'd and golden,
Or porcelain pagoda, tipp'd with light,
Or high-spann'd arches — were a noble sight:
Nor less yon gallant ship, that treads the waves
In a triumphant silence of delight,
Like some huge swan with its fair wings unfurl'd,
Whose curved sides the laughing water laves
Bearing it buoyant o'er the liquid world:
Nor less yon silken monster of the sky,
Around whose wicker car the clouds are curl'd,
Helping undaunted man to scale on high
Nearer the sun than eagles dare to fly;
Thy trophies these — still but a modest part
Of thy grand conquests, wonder-working Art.