  "When Ganymede was caught up to Heaven, he let fall his pipe, on which he was playing to his sheep."—Alexander Ross, Myst. Poet. Upon the Phrygian hill He sate, and on his reed the shepherd play'd. Sunlight and calm: noon in the dreamy glade, Noon on the lulling rill. He saw not, where on high The noiseless eagle of the Heavenly King Rested,—till rapt upon the rushing wing Into the golden sky. When the bright Nectar Hall And the still brows of bended gods he saw, In the quick instinct both of shame and awe His hand the reed let fall. Soul! that a thought divine Bears into heaven,—thy first ascent survey! What charm'd thee most on earth is cast away;— To soar—is to resign! |
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