IV. Blest be the song that brightens The blind man's gloom, exalts the veteran's mirth; Unscorned the peasant's whistling breath, that lightens His duteous toil of furrowing the green earth. That beautifies the fairest shore, And mitigates the harshest clime. Yon pilgrims see-in lagging file They move; but soon the appointed way A choral Ave Marie shall beguile, And to their hope the distant shrine Glisten with a livelier ray : Not friendless he, the prisoner of the mine, Who from the well-spring of his own clear breast Can draw, and sing his griefs to rest. When civic renovation V. Dawns on a kingdom, and for needful haste Who, from a martial pageant, spreads Incitements of a battle-day, Thrilling the unweaponed crowds with plumeless heads? Even She, whose Lydian airs inspire Peaceful striving, gentle play Of timid hope and innocent desire Shot from the dancing Graces, as they move How oft along thy mazes, VI. Regent of sound, have dangerous Passions trod! praises, And blackening clouds in thunder speak of God, Betray not by the cozenage of sense Thy votaries, wooingly resigned To a voluptuous influence That taints the purer, better mind ; But lead sick Fancy to a harp That hath in noble tasks been tried ; And, if the virtuous feel a pang too sharp, The uplifted arm of Suicide; And let some mood of thine in firm array Knit every thought the impending issue needs, Ere martyr burns, or patriot bleeds! VII. As Conscience, to the centre Of being, smites with irresistible pain, So shall a solemn cadence, if it enter The mouldy vaults of the dull idiot's brain, Convulsed as by a jarring din; And then aghast, as at the world, Of reason partially let in By concords winding with a sway Terrible for sense and soul! Or, awed he weeps, struggling to quell dismay. Lodged above the starry pole; Pure modulations flowing from the heart Oblivion may not cover VIII. All treasures hoarded by the miser, Time. And voice and shell drew forth a tear IX. The GIFT to king Amphion That walled a city with its melody Was for belief no dream :-Thy skill, Arion! Could humanize the creatures of the sea, Where men were monsters. A last grace he craves, And singing, while the accordant hand So shall he touch at length a friendly strand, X. The pipe of Pan, to shepherds Couched in the shadow of Mænalian pines, This way and that, with wild-flowers crowned. Of fable, though to truth subservient, hear The convict's summons in the steeple's knell; For terror, joy, or pity, XI. Vast is the compass and the swell of notes: Ye wandering Utterances, has earth no scheme, Powers that survive but in the faintest dream By one pervading spirit, XII. Of tones and numbers all things are controlled, As sages taught, where faith was found to merit, Initiation in that mystery old. The heavens, whose aspect makes our minds as still As they themselves appear to be, Innumerable voices fill With everlasting harmony; The towering headlands, crowned with mist, Their feet among the billows, know That Ocean is a mighty harmonist; Thy pinions, universal Air, Ever waving to and fro, Are delegates of harmony, and bear Strains that support the Seasons in their round; XIII. Break forth into thanksgiving, Ye banded instruments of wind and chords; Unite, to magnify the Ever-living, Your inarticulate notes with the voice of words! Nor hushed be service from the lowing mead, Nor mute the forest hum of noon; Thou too be heard, lone eagle! freed From snowy peak and cloud, attune |