126
PAPERS ON LITERATURE AND ART.
| Eyes pure from human tear or smile, |
| Yet ruling all on earth, |
| And limbs whose garb of golden air |
| Was Dawn’s primeval birth. |
| With tones like music of a lyre, |
| Continuous, piercing, low, |
| The sovran lips began to speak, |
| Spoke on in liquid flow, |
| It seemed the distant ocean’s voice, |
| Brought near and shaped to speech, |
| But breathing with a sense beyond |
| What words of man may reach. |
| Weak child! Not I the puny power |
| Thy wish would have me be, |
| A roseleaf floating with the wind |
| Upon a summer sea. |
| If such thou need’st, go range the fields, |
| And hunt the gilded fly, |
| And when it mounts above thy head, |
| Then lay thee down and die. |
| The spells which rule in earth and stars, |
| Each mightiest thought that lives, |
| Are stronger than the kiss a child |
| In sudden fancy gives. |
| They cannot change, or fail, or fade, |
| Nor deign o’er aught to sway, |
| Too weak to suffer and to strive, |
| And tired while still ’t is day. |
| And thou with better wisdom learn |
| The ancient lore to scan, |
| Which tells that first in Ocean’s breast |
| Thy rule o’er all began; |
| And know that not in breathless noon |
| Upon the glassy main, |
| The power was born that taught the world |
| To hail her endless reign. |
