Puslapio vaizdai
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The pair were Servants of his eye
In their immortality;

They moved about in open sight,
To and fro, for his delight.

He knew the Rocks which Angels haunt
On the Mountains visitant;

He hath kenned them taking wing:
And the Caves where Faeries sing
He hath entered; and been told
By Voices how Men lived of old.
Among the Heavens his eye can see
Face of thing that is to be;
And, if Men report him right,
He could whisper words of might.
- Now another day is come,
Fitter hope, and nobler doom:
He hath thrown aside his Crook,
And hath buried deep his Book;
Armour rusting in his Halls

On the blood of Clifford calls;

"Quell the Scot," exclaims the Lance

Bear me to the heart of France,

Is the longing of the Shield

Tell thy name, thou trembling Field;

Field of death, where'er thou be,

Groan thou with our victory!

Happy day, and mighty hour,

When our Shepherd, in his power,

Mailed and horsed, with lance and sword,

To his Ancestors restored,

Like a re-appearing Star,

Like a glory from afar,

First shall head the Flock of War!"

Alas! the fervent Harper did not know
That for a tranquil Soul the Lay was framed,
Who, long compelled in humble walks to go,
Was softened into feeling, soothed, and tamed.

Love had he found in huts where poor Men lie; His daily Teachers had been Woods and Rills, The silence that is in the starry sky,

The sleep that is among the lonely hills.

In him the savage Virtue of the Race,
Revenge, and all ferocious thoughts were dead:
Nor did he change; but kept in lofty place
The wisdom which adversity had bred.

Glad were the Vales, and every cottage hearth;

The Shepherd Lord was honoured more and more: And, ages after he was laid in earth,

"The Good Lord Clifford" was the name he bore.

XXXI.

YES, it was the mountain Echo,
Solitary, clear, profound,

Answering to the shouting Cuckoo,
Giving to her sound for sound!

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Hears not also mortal Life?
Hear not we, unthinking Creatures!
Slaves of Folly, Love, or Strife,
Voices of two different Natures?

Have not We too?—yes, we have Answers, and we know not whence; Echoes from beyond the grave, Recognized intelligence?

Such rebounds our inward ear

Often catches from afar ;

Giddy Mortals! hold them dear;
For of God, of God they are.

XXXII.

TO A SKY-LARK.

ETHEREAL Minstrel! Pilgrim of the sky!

Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?

Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still!

To the last point of vision, and beyond,

Mount, daring Warbler! that love-prompted strain, ('Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond) Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain:

Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing All independent of the leafy spring.

Leave to the Nightingale her shady wood;
A privacy of glorious light is thine;

Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with rapture more divine;

Type of the wise who soar, but never roam ;

True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!

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