Days, months, and years, towards his all-cheering Lamp 
 Turn swift thir various motions, or are turn’d 
 By his Magnetic beam, that gently warms 
 The Universe, and to each inward part 
 With gentle penetration, though unseen, 
 Shoots invisible virtue even to the deep: 
 So wondrously was set his Station bright. 
 There lands the Fiend, a spot like which perhaps 
 Astronomer in the Sun’s lucent Orb 
 Through his glaz’d Optic Tube yet never saw. 
 The place he found beyond expression bright, 
 Compar’d with aught on Earth, Metal or Stone; 
 Not all parts like, but all alike inform’d 
 With radiant light, as glowing Iron with fire; 
 If metal, part seem’d Gold, part Silver clear;