“And many, many are the souls
Life’s movement fascinates, controls;
It draws them on, they cannot save 165
Their feet from its alluring wave;
They cannot leave it, they must go
With its unconquerable flow. 
But ah! how few, of all that try
This mighty march, do aught but die! 170
For ill-endow’d for such a way,
Ill-stored in strength, in wits, are they. 
They faint, they stagger to and fro,
And wandering from the stream they go;
In pain, in terror, in distress, 175
They see, all round, a wilderness. 
Sometimes a momentary gleam
They catch of the mysterious stream;
Sometimes, a second’s space, their ear
The murmur of its waves doth hear. 180
That transient glimpse in song they say,
But not of painter can pourtray—­
That transient sound in song they tell,
But not, as the musician, well. 
And when at last their snatches cease, 185
And they are silent and at peace,
The stream of life’s majestic whole
Hath ne’er been mirror’d on their soul.

“Only a few the life-stream’s shore
With safe unwandering feet explore; 190
Untired its movement bright attend,
Follow its windings to the end. 
Then from its brimming waves their eye
Drinks up delighted ecstasy,
And its deep-toned, melodious voice 195
For ever makes their ear rejoice. 
They speak! the happiness divine
They feel, runs o’er in every line;
Its spell is round them like a shower—­
It gives them pathos, gives them power. 200
No painter yet hath such a way,
Nor no musician made, as they,
And gather’d on immortal knolls
Such lovely flowers for cheering souls. 
Beethoven, Raphael, cannot reach 205
The charm which Homer, Shakespeare, teach. 
To these, to these, their thankful race
Gives, then, the first, the fairest place;
And brightest is their glory’s sheen,
For greatest hath their labour been. deg.” deg.210

SONNETS

QUIET WORK deg.

One lesson, deg.  Nature, let me learn of thee, deg.1
One lesson which in every wind is blown,
One lesson of two duties kept at one
Though the loud deg. world proclaim their enmity—­ deg.4

Of toil unsever’d from tranquillity! 5
Of labour, that in lasting fruit outgrows
Far noisier deg. schemes, accomplish’d in repose, deg.7
Too great for haste, too high for rivalry!

Yes, while on earth a thousand discords ring,
Man’s fitful uproar mingling with his toil, 10
Still do thy sleepless ministers move on,