The pair were Servants of his eye They moved about in open sight, He knew the Rocks which Angels haunt He hath kenned them taking wing: 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 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, 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, Answering to the shouting Cuckoo, Hears not also mortal Life? 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; 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; Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Type of the wise who soar, but never roam ; True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home! |