Various, The Mirror of Literature, Amusement…
“ Light as air, fresh as morning, and joyful as the martyr at the gates of death, I gazed on the enchanting loveliness around me. "Come!" sighed a voice, low and mellifluous as that of the wind-harp, parleying with "the breath of the sweet south,"—"ravishing and radiant as is this spot, its bowery beauty must thou quit, for the splendour of the Golden City, the City of the Fairies! Thrice happy mortal! ”
