Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet. Nothing comes to thee new or strange. Sleep full of rest from head to feet; Lie still, dry dust, secure of change. OU ask me, why, tho' ill at ease, Whose spirits falter in the mist, And languish for the purple seas? It is the land that freemen till, That sober-suited Freedom chose, The land, where girt with friends or foes A man may speak the thing he will; A land of settled government, A land of just and old renown, Where Freedom broadens slowly down From precedent to precedent: Where faction seldom gathers head, But by degrees to fullness wrought, The strength of some diffusive thought Hath time and space to work and spread. Should banded unions persecute When single thought is civil crime, And individual freedom mute; Tho' Power should make from land to land The name of Britain trebly great Tho' every channel of the State Should almost choke with golden sand— Yet waft me from the harbour-mouth, Wild wind! I seek a warmer sky, And I will see before I die The palms and temples of the South F old sat Freedom on the heights, Above her shook the starry lights: There in her place she did rejoice, Self-gather'd in her prophet-mind, But fragments of her mighty voice Then stept she down thro' town and field And part by part to men reveal'd The fullness of her face Grave mother of majestic works, From her isle-altar gazing down, Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks, And, King-like, wears the crown: Her open eyes desire the truth. The wisdom of a thousand years Is in them. May perpetual youth Keep dry their light from tears; That her fair form may stand and shine, Make bright our days and light our dreams, Turning to scorn with lips divine The falsehood of extremes! |