Fanaticism: A Night-Scene in the Open Air

These sectaries deal in parodies of truth —
Their narrow-minded fancies, crude and mean,
Utter'd with gestures wild and words uncouth
In nature's mighty presence, move our spleen,
When they should move our tears. The gale blew loud,
But still the raving and the rant were heard —
Just then I mark'd, how, from a flying cloud,
Orion swiftly drew his belt and sword,
As he would mount to higher heavens, and go
Still further from the earth! how little dream'd
The hot fanatic, breathing flames and woe,
Of that ineffable contrast! Stars that gleam'd,
Free winds and fleecy drift, how pure they seem'd,
How alien from the hearts that grovell'd so!