Shades of the prison-house begin to close

Upon the growing boy,

But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,

He sees it in his joy; The youth, who daily farther from the east

Must travel, still is Nature's priest,
And by the vision splendid

Is on his way attended; At length the man perceives it die away,

And fade into the light of common day.

VI.

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;

Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,

And, even with something of a mother's mind,

And no unworthy aim, The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster-child, her inmate man,

Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he

came.

VII.

Behold the child among his newborn blisses,

A six years' darling of a pygmy size!

See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies,

Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,

With light upon him from his father's eyes!

See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,

Some fragment from his dream of human life,

Shaped by himself with newlylearned art;

A wedding or a festival,
A mourning or a funeral;

And this hath now his heart, And unto this he frames his song:

Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife;

Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie

Thy soul's immensity; Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep

Thy heritage; thou eye among the blind,

That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep,

Haunted forever by the eternal mind,

Mighty Prophet! Seer blest!

On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find;

(In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;)

Thou, over whom thy immortality Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave,

A presence which is not to be put by; Thou little child, yet glorious in the might

Of heaven-born freedom, on thy being's height,

Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke

The years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at

The thought of our past years in me doth breed

Perpetual benedictions: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest;

Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of childhood, whether busy or at rest,

With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast: :

Not for these I raise

The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings

Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a creature Moving about in worlds not realized, High instincts, before which our mortal nature

Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised:

But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,

Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day,

Are yet a master light of all our seeing;

Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make

Our noisy years seem moments in the being

Of the eternal silence: truths that wake,

To perish never;

Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor,

Nor man nor boy,

Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!

Hence, in a season of calm weather,
Though inland far we be,
Our souls have sight of that im-
mortal sea

Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the children sport upon the shore,

And hear the mighty waters rolling

evermore.

X.

Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!

And let the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound!

We in thought will join your throng,

Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts today

Feel the gladness of the May! What though the radiance which was once so bright

Be now forever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;

We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind,

In the primal sympathy

Which having been, must ever be;

In the soothing thoughts that spring

Out of human suffering;

In the faith that looks through death,

In years that bring the philosophic mind.

My share! No deed of house or spreading lands,

As I had dreamed; no measure Heaped up with gold; my elder brother's hands

Had never held such treasure. Foxes have holes, and birds in nests are fed:

My brother had not where to lay his head.

My share! The right like him to know all pain

Which hearts are made for knowing; The right to find in loss the surest gain;

To reap my joy from sowing In bitter tears; the right with him to keep

A watch by day and night with all who weep.

My share! To-day men call it grief and death;

I see the joy and life to-morrow; I thank my Father with my every breath,

For this sweet legacy of sorrow; And through my tears I call to each joint heir

66

With Christ, make haste to ask him for thy share."