O blow, fresh winds, and change this murky air!
Let Heaven, with all its starry clusters hung,
Mew that old glory, and again be young!
Away, away from seats so pure and fair,
Ye Heathen Hosts, too long usurpers there!
The time disowns you, and the sacred fire
Of Christian fancy doth those fields require,
Our heart expands, we have no room to spare.
O long-time Hesper, leader of the Sky,
March thou for Michael, Prince of all the Sphere!
Be thou, dire Mars, Ithuriel's righteous Eye;
Thou, trembling Venus, Gabriel's holy Tear;
And let far-darting Jove report on high
Of Uriel balancing his diamond spear!