When power streamed from thee, and thy soul received The light reflected, as a light bestowed- Of more than Fancy, of the Social Sense Distending wide, and man beloved as man, Where France in all her towns lay vibrating Like some becalmed bark beneath the burst Of Heaven's immediate thunder, when no cloud Is visible, or shadow on the main. For thou wert there, thine own brows garlanded Amid the tremor of a realm aglow, Amid a mighty nation jubilant, When from the general heart of human kind -Of that dear Hope afflicted and struck down, So summoned homeward, thenceforth calm and sure From the dread watch-tower of man's absolute self, With light unwaning on her eyes, to look Far on-herself a glory to behold, The Angel of the vision! Then (last strain) Of Duty, chosen laws controlling choice, A song divine of high and passionate thoughts O great Bard! Ere yet that last strain dying awed the air, Have all one age, and from one visible space The pulses of my being beat anew: And even as life returns upon the drowned, And fears self-willed, that shunned the eye of And hope that scarce would know itself from fear; اشهر And all which I had culled in wood-walks wild, And all which patient toil had reared, and all, Commune with thee had opened out—but flowers Strewed on my corse, and borne upon my bier, In the same coffin, for the self-same grave! That way no more! and ill beseems it me, To wander back on such unhealthful road, Nor do thou, Sage Bard! impair the memory of that hour Nor let my words import more blame than needs. Eve following eve, Dear tranquil time, when the sweet sense of Home Driven as in surges now beneath the stars, Into the darkness; now a tranquil sea, And when-O Friend! my comforter and Strong in thyself, and powerful to give strength!- * "A beautiful white cloud of foam at momentary intervals coursed by the side of the vessel with a roar, and little stars of flame danced and sparkled and went out in it: and every now and then light detachments of this white cloud-like foam darted off from the vessel's side, each with its own small constellation, over the sea, and scoured out of sight like a Tartar troop over a wilderness."-The Friend, p. 220. power & greate INSCRIPTION FOR A FOUNTAIN ON A HEATH. THIS Sycamore, oft musical with bees,Such tents the Patriarchs loved! O long unharmed May all its aged boughs o'er-canopy The small round basin, which this jutting stone Keeps pure from falling leaves! Long may the Spring, Quietly as a sleeping infant's breath, Send up cold waters to the traveller With soft and even pulse! Nor ever cease Nor wrinkles the smooth surface of the Fount. |