WHY, wedded to the Lord, still yearns my heart Towards these scenes of ancient heathen fame? Yet legend hoar, and voice of bard that came Fixing my restless youth with its sweet art, And shades of power, and those who bore a part In the mad deeds that set the world on flame, So fret my memory here, -- ah! is it blame? -- That from my eyes the tear is fain to start. Nay, from no fount impure these drops arise; 'Tis but that sympathy with Adam's race Which in each brother's history reads its own. So let the cliffs and seas of this fair place Be named man's tomb and splendid record-stone, High hope, pride-stain'd, the course without the prize. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SAD SONG, FR. THE CAPTAIN by JOHN FLETCHER SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 11. IN THE RESTAURANT by THOMAS HARDY THE LAMENT: A BALLAD by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD UNTO US A CHILD IS BORN by AGNES H. BEGBIE PLAINT OF A YOUNG LAWYER by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE ULYSSES BUILDS HIS BED by JEAN DE BOSSCHERE |