Lord of himself, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.
SOUND
A thousand trills and quivering sounds
In airy circles o'er us fly,
Till, wafted by a gentle breeze,
They faint and languish by degrees,
And at a distance die.
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.
I hear a sound so fine there's nothing lives
'Twixt it and silence.
At which the universal host up sent A shout that tore hell's concave, and beyond Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night. </poem>
Their rising all at once was as the sound
Of thunder heard remote.
To all proportioned terms he must dispense
And make the sound a picture of the sense.
The murmur that springs
Prom the growing of grass.
What's the business,
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house? Speak, speak!
My eyes are dim with childish tears,
My heart is idly stirred,
For the same sound is in my ears
Which in those days I heard.
SPAIN
Fair land! of chivalry the old domain,
Land of the vine and olive, lovely Spain!
Though not for thee with classic shores to vie
In charms that fix th' enthusiast's pensive eye;
Yet hast thou scenes of beauty richly fraught
With all that wakes the glow of lofty thought.
SPARROW
Tell me not of joy: there's none
Now my little sparrow's gone;
He, just as you,
Would toy and woo,
He would chirp and flatter me,
He would hang the wing awhile,
Till at length he saw me smile,
Lord! how sullen he would be!
The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud
Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be.
The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,
That it had it head bit off by it young.
Behold, within the leafy shade,
Those bright blue eggs together laid!
On me the chance-discovered sight
Gleamed like a vision of delight.
SPEECH
