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Still nursing the unconquerable hope,
Still clutching the inviolable shade,
With a free, onward impulse brushing through,
Emerge, and resting on the moonlit pales
But fly our paths, our feverish contact fly!
Soon, soon thy cheer would die,
Thy hopes grow timorous, and unfixed thy powers, And thy clear aims be cross and shifting made; And then thy glad perennial youth would fade, Fade, and grow old at last, and die like ours.
Then fly our greetings, fly our speech and smiles!
And saw the merry Grecian coaster come,
Freighted with amber grapes, and Chian wine, Green, bursting figs, and tunnies steeped in brine And knew the intruders on his ancient home,
The young light-hearted masters of the waves
Betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily,
To where the Atlantic raves
Outside the western straits, and unbent sails
There where down cloudy cliffs, through sheets of foam, Shy traffickers, the dark Iberians come;
And on the beach undid his corded bales.
THE sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits: -on the French coast the light
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched sand,
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The sea of faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night.
HARK! ah, the nightingale
Hark, from that moonlit cedar what a burst!
What triumph! hark! —what pain!
O wanderer from a Grecian shore,
Still, after many years, in distant lands,
Still nourishing in thy bewildered brain
And can this fragrant lawn
To thy racked heart and brain
Dost thou to-night behold,
Here, through the moonlight on this English grass. The unfriendly palace in the Thracian wild?
Dost thou again peruse
With hot cheeks and seared eyes
The too clear web, and thy dumb sister's shame?
Thy flight, and feel come over thee,
Poor fugitive, the feathery change
Once more, and once more seem to make resound
With love and hate, triumph and agony,
Lone Daulis, and the high Cephisian vale?
How thick the bursts come crowding through the leaves ! thou hearest?
FOILED by our fellow-men, depressed, outworn,
The world shall be thrust down, and we up-borne.
And will not, then, the immortal armies scorn
No, no! the energy of life may be
From strength to strength advancing - only he,
'T WAS August, and the fierce sun overhead
I met a preacher there I knew, and said:
'Ill and o'erworked, how fare you in this scene ?’'Bravely!' said he; for I of late have been
Much cheered with thoughts of Christ, the living bread.'
O human soul! as long as thou canst so
Set up a mark of everlasting light,
To cheer thee, and to right thee if thou roam
Not with lost toil thou laborest through the night! Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home.