Sonnet XLV

From Possibility's dim chaos sprung,

High o'er its gloom the Aërostatic Power

Arose!—Exulting Nations hail'd the hour,

Magnific boast of Science!—Loud they sung

Her victory o'er the element, that hung,

Pressing to earth the Beings, who now soar

Aerial heights;—but Wisdom bids explore

This vaunted skill;—if, tides of air among,

We know to steer our bark.—Here Science finds

Her buoyant hopes burst, like the bubble vain,

Type of this art;—guilty, if still she blinds

The sense of Fear; persists thy flame to fan,

Sky-vaulting Pride, that to the aweless winds

Throws, for an idle Show, the Life of Man!