To men as they are men within themselves.

How oft high service is performed within,

When all the external man is rude in show:

Not like a temple rich with pomp and gold,

But a mere mountain chapel that protects

Its simple worshippers from sun and shower!

Of these, said I, shall be my song; of these,

If future years mature me for the task, Will I record the praises, making verse Deal boldly with substantial things, -in truth

And sanctity of passion speak of these, That justice may be done, obeisance paid

Where it is due. Thus haply shall I teach,

Inspire, through unadulterated ears Pour rapture, tenderness, and hope; my theme

No other than the very heart of man, As found among the best of those who live,

Not unexalted by religious faith, Nor uninformed by books, good books, though few,

In Nature's presence: thence may I select

Sorrow that is not sorrow, but

delight,

And miserable love that is not pain To hear of, for the glory that redounds

Therefrom to human kind, and what we are.

Be mine to follow with no timid step Where knowledge leads me; it shall

be my pride

That I have dared to tread this holy ground,

Speaking no dream, but things oracu

lar,

To certain species of external things Attune the finer organs of the mind; So the glad impulse of congenial powers,

Or of sweet sound, or fair-proportioned form,

The grace of motion, or the bloom of light,

Thrills through imagination's tender frame,

From nerve to nerve; all naked and alive

They catch the spreading rays; till now the soul

At length discloses every tuneful spring,

To that harmonious movement from without,

Responsive. Then the inexpressive strain

Diffuses its enchantment; Fancy dreams

Of sacred fountains and Elysian

Say, why was man so eminently

raised

Amid the vast creation; why ordained

Through life and death to dart his piercing eye,

With thoughts beyond the limits of his frame,

But that the Omnipotent might send him forth

In sight of mortal and immortal powers,

As on a boundless theatre to run
The great career of justice; to exalt
His generous aim to all diviner
deeds;

To chase each partial purpose from his breast;

And through the mists of passion and of sense,

And through the tossing tide of chance and pain,

To hold his course unfaltering, while the voice

Of Truth and Virtue, up the steep

To mark the windings of a scanty rill

That murmurs at his feét? The high-born soul

Disdains to rest her heaven-aspiring wing

Beneath its native quarry. Tired of earth

And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft,

Through fields of air pursues the flying storm;

Rides on the volleyed lightning through the heavens; Or, yoked with whirlwinds and the northern blast,

Sweeps the long track of day. Then high she soars

The blue profound, and hovering o'er the sun

Beholds him pouring the redundant stream

Of light beholds the unrelenting sway

Bend the reluctant planets to absolve The fated rounds of time. Thence

Of Autumn tinges every fertile branch

With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn.

Each passing Hour sheds tribute from her wings,

And still new beauties meet his lonely walk,

And loves unfelt attract him.

Look, then, abroad through Nature, to the range

Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres,

Wheeling unshaken through the Void immense,

And speak, O man! does this capacious scene

With half that kindling majesty dilate

Thy strong conception, as when
Brutus rose
Refulgent from the stroke of Cæsar's
fate,

Amid the crowd of patriots; and his

ULYSSES.

IT little profits that an idle king By this still hearth, among these barren crags,

Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole

Unequal laws unto a savage race That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed

Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those

That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when

Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades

Vext the dim sea: I am become a

name;

For always roaming with a hungry heart

Much have I seen and known; cities of men

And manners, climates, councils, governments,

Myself not least, but honored of them all;

And drunk delight of battle with my peers,

Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.

I am a part of all that I have met; Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough

Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades

Forever and forever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end,

To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!

As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life

Were all too little, and of one to me Little remains: but every hour is saved

From that eternal silence, something

RUMBLE thy belly-full! Spit, fire! spout, rain!

Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:

I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness,

I never gave you kingdom, called you children;

You owe me no subscription; why then, let fall

Your horrible pleasure; here I stand your slave,

A poor infirm, weak, and despised old man;

But yet I call you servile ministers, That have with two pernicious daughters joined

Your high-engendered battles 'gainst a head

So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!