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Then, not the spirit's strife,
25 Hopes for thyself, thine Italy, thine own,High gifts defeated of their due renown, Long toil—and this the end ! The end ? not ours to scan : Yet grieve not, children, for your father's worth; 30 Oh! never wish that in his native earth He lay, a baser man. What to the dead avail The chance success, the blundering praise of fame? Oh! rather trust, somewhere the noble aim
35 Is crowned, though here it fail. Kind, generous, true wert thou : This meed at least to goodness must belong, That such it was. Farewell ; the world's great wrong Is righted for thee now.
40 Rest in thy foreign grave, Sicilian! whom our English hearts have loved,Italian! such as Dante had approved,An exile-not a slave!
HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE, IN THE VALE OF
Hast thoi a charm to stay the morning star
Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought, Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy, Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, Into the mighty vision passing—there, As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven !
Awake my soul ! not only passive praise Thou owest ! not alone these swelling tears,
25 Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy ! Awake, Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake! Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn.
Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the Vale ! Oh, struggling with the darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars,
Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink :
And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad! Who called you forth from night and utter death, 40 From dark and icy caverns called you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, For ever shattered and the same for ever? Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strer.gth, your speed, your fury, and your joy, 45 Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ? And who commanded (and the silence came,) Here let the billows stiffen and have rest ?
Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amainTorrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge ! Motionless torrents! silent cataracts ! Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full moon ? Who bade the sun 55 Clothe you with rainbows ? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet ?God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God !
59 God ! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice ! Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds ! And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God !
Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost ! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest ! 65 Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm ! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds !
Ye signs and wonders of the elements,
Thou, too, hoar Mount ! with thy sky-pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard,
71 Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene, Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breastThou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou, That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low
75 In adoration, upward from thy base Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud, To rise before me-rise, oh, ever rise, Rise like a cloud of incense from the earth!
80 Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills, Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven, Great hierarch ! tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
THE DANISH BOY.
Between two sister moorland rills
Within this lonesome nook the bird