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Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
The world is too much with us ; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in nature that is ours ;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This sea that bares her bosom to the moon ;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for every thing, we are out of tụne ;
It moves us not. Great God! I'd rather be
A pagan, suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ;
Have sight of Proteus coming from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
Ye Nymphs of Solyma ! begin the song:
To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong.
The mossy fountains, and the sylvan shades,
The dreams of Pindus and the Aonian maids,
Delight no more. -O thou my voice inspire,
Who touched Isaiah's hallowed lips with fire !
Rapt into future times, the bard begun : A virgin shall conceive, a virgin bear a son! From Jesse's root behold a branch arise, Whose sacred flower with fragrance fills the skies ; The ethereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move, And on its top descends the mystic dove. Ye heavens, from high the dewy nectar pour, And in soft silence shed the kindly shower! The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid, From storms a shelter, and from heat a shade. All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail ; Returning Justice lift aloft her scale ; Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend, And white-robed Innocence from heaven descend. Swift fly the years, and rise the expected morn! O, spring to light, auspicious babe, be born! See, Nature hastes her earliest wreaths to bring, With all the incense of the breathing spring! See lofty Lebanon his head advance ! See nodding forests on the mountains dance ! See spicy clouds from lowly Saron rise, And Carmel's flowery top perfume the skies ! Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers : Prepare the way! a God, a God appears ! A God, a God! the vocal hills reply, The rocks proclaim the approaching Deity; Lo, earth receives him from the bending skies ! Sink down, ye mountains, and ye valleys, rise ! With heads declined, ye cedars, homage pay ! Be smooth, ye rocks ! ye rapid floods, give way! The Saviour comes, by ancient bards foretold : Hear him, ye deaf, and all ye blind, behold ! He from thick films shall purge the visual ray, And on the sightless eyeball pour the day : 'T is he the obstructed paths of sound shall clear, And bid new music charm the unfolding ear:
The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch forego,
And leap exulting, like the bounding roe.
No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shall hear;
From every face he wipes off every tear.
In adamantine chains shall Death be bound,
And Hell's grim tyrant feel the eternal wound.
As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care,
Seeks freshest pasture and the purest air,
Explores the lost, the wandering sheep directs,
By day o'ersees them and by night protects,
The tender lambs he raises in his arms,
Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms;
Thus shall mankind his guardian care engage,
The promised father of the future age.
No more shall nation against nation rise,
Nor 'ardent warriors meet, with hateful eyes,
Nor fields with gleaming steel be covered o'er,
The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more ;
But useless lances into scythes shall bend,
And the broad falchion in a ploughshare end.
Then palaces shall rise ; the joyful son
Shall finish what his short-lived sire begun;
Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield,
And the same hand that sowed shall reap the field.
The swain in barren deserts, with surprise,
Sees lilies spring, and sudden verdure rise ;
And starts, amid the thirsty wilds to hear
New falls of water murmuring in his ear.
On rifted rocks, the dragon's late abodes,
green reed trembles, and the bulrush nods.
Waste sandy valleys, once perplexed with thorn,
The spiry fir and shapely box adorn :
To leafless shrubs the flowering palms succeed,
And odorous myrtle to the noisome weed.
The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant mead,
And boys in flowery bands the tiger lead ;
The steer and lion at one crib shall meet,
And harmless serpents lick the pilgrim's feet.
The smiling infant in his hand shall take
The crested basilisk and speckled snake,
Pleased, the green lustre of the scales survey,
And with their forky tongue shall innocently play.
Rise, crowned with light, imperial Salem, rise !
Exalt thy towery head, and lift thy eyes !
See a long race thy spacious courts adorn ;
See future sons and daughters, yet unborn,
In crowding ranks on every side arise,
Demanding life, impatient for the skies!
See barbarous nations at thy gates attend,
Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend;
See thy bright altars thronged with prostrate kings,
And heaped with products of Sabæan springs !
For thee Idume's spicy forests blow,
And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow.
See heaven its sparkling portals wide display,
And break upon thee in a flood of day!
No more the rising sun shall gild the morn,
Nor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn;
But lost, dissolved, in thy superior rays,
One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze,
O’erflow thy courts : the Light himself shall shine
Revealed, and God's eternal day be thine!
The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay,
Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away;
But fixed his word, his saving power remains ;
Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns !
LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE.- Tennyson.
LADY Clara Vere de Vere,
Of me you shall not win renown; You thought to break a country heart
For pastime, ere you went to town. At me you smiled, but unbeguiled
I saw the snare, and I retired : The daughter of a hundred earls, –
You are not one to be desired.
Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
I know you proud to bear your name; Your pride is yet no mate to mine,
Too proud to care from whence I came. Nor would I break, for your sweet sake,
A heart that doats on truer charms ; A simple maiden in her flower
Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms.
Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
Some meeker pupil you must find ; For were you queen of all that is,
I could not stoop to such a mind. You sought to prove how I could love,
And disdain is my reply ; The lion on your old stone gates
Is not more cold to you than I.
Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
You put strange memories in my head: Not thrice your branching limes have blown,
Şince I beheld young Lawrence dead.