He sighed, and, sighing, kept the herbless way.
Beneath the gorge a stronger music rose,
And swept a noble anger from the strings,
The chord of glory smote,—loud rang the song:
"Ah far behind, ah far behind thee rise
The towered cities where the people toil,
Builders of life, as their dead fathers were;
And, as their fathers, still they seek the man
Heroic, framed for action, loving Christ;
The laurel withers while the tribune waits;
He fears, nor guesses how his thought shall burst,
The hope that gathers in ten thousand hearts,
The sun-like deed that blesses half the World!
Weak is his single might, but strong is man's,
And giant-like bears up from age to age
The starry load. O, let the burden fall!
Weep, O lost people, for the Leader lost,
Into the desert gone, the forfeiter!
His heart shall dry, his dead soul drags him down;
The plague shall prosper him who hath forgot
The cords of birth, of country, and of kind,
The bonds unforced and mystery of love,
The heaven-conjoinèd league, the state to be!
