An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new And undebased by praise of meaner things, That, ere through age or woe I shed my wings, I may record thy worth with honour due, In verse as musical as thou art true, And that immortalizes whom it sings: But thou hast little need. There is a book On which the eyes of God not rarely look, O FRIEND! I know not which way I must look For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, To think that now our life is only drest For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook, Or groom!-We must run glittering like a brook In the open sunshine, or we are unblest: The wealthiest man among us is the best: No grandeur now in nature or in book Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, 2 LONDON, 1802 II MILTON! thou shouldst be living at this hour: Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart : Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay. 3 "GREAT MEN HAVE BEEN AMONG US" III GREAT men have been among us; hands that And tongues that uttered wisdom-better none; Young Vane, and others who called Milton These moralists could act and comprehend: But in magnanimous meekness. France, 't is strange, Hath brought forth no such souls as we had then. Perpetual emptiness! unceasing change! 4 "IT IS NOT TO BE THOUGHT OF " IV Ir is not to be thought of that the Flood Roused though it be full often to a mood Should perish; and to evil and to good Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung Armory of the invincible Knights of old: We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakspeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.-In everything we are sprung Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold. 5 WHEN I HAVE BORNE IN MEMORY" WHEN I have borne in memory what has tamed Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country!-am I to be blamed? Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art, Verily, in the bottom of my heart, Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed. For dearly must we prize thee; we who find And I by my affection was beguiled: What wonder if a Poet now and then, Among the many movements of his mind, Felt for thee as a lover or a child! 1802. 1807. |