Great Localities. An Aspiration

Oft do I muse in castle-building hours —
O! might some trick o' the air advance the hill
Of Sion westward, I would gaze my fill
Upon her far-projected walls and towers!
O! that the realms our rounded earth doth hide
Could, maugre all the horizons, be display'd
To my rapt eyes and heart — o'er land and tide
By some intense refractive power convey'd!
For I am bound by duties and constraints
To mine own land, or move in modest round
Among my neighbours; tho' my spirit faints
And hungers for the storied eastern ground:
Cease, dreamer! is it fit the laws of space
And vision should be strain'd to meet thy case?