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| IN the fair days when God | |
| By man as godlike trod, | |
| And each alike was Greek, alike was free, | |
| God’s lightning spared, they said, | |
| Alone the happier head | 5 |
| Whose laurels screen’d it; fruitless grace for thee, | |
| To whom the high gods gave of right | |
| Their thunders and their laurels and their light. | |
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| Sunbeams and bays before | |
| Our master’s servants wore, | 10 |
| For these Apollo left in all men’s lands; | |
| But far from these ere now | |
| And watch’d with jealous brow | |
| Lay the blind lightnings shut between God’s hands, | |
| And only loosed on slaves and kings | 15 |
| The terror of the tempest of their wings. | |
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| Born in those younger years | |
| That shone with storms of spears | |
| And shook in the wind blown from a dead world’s pyre, | |
| When by her back-blown hair | 20 |
| Napoleon caught the fair | |
| And fierce Republic with her feet of fire, | |
| And stay’d with iron words and hands | |
| Her flight, and freedom in a thousand lands: | |
| |
| Thou sawest the tides of things | 25 |
| Close over heads of kings, | |
| And thine hand felt the thunder, and to thee | |
| Laurels and lightnings were | |
| As sunbeams and soft air | |
| Mix’d each in other, or as mist with sea | 30 |
| Mix’d, or as memory with desire, | |
| Or the lute’s pulses with the louder lyre. | |
| |
| For thee man’s spirit stood | |
| Disrobed of flesh and blood, | |
| And bare the heart of the most secret hours; | 35 |
| And to thine hand more tame | |
| Than birds in winter came | |
| High hopes and unknown flying forms of powers, | |
| And from thy table fed, and sang | |
| Till with the tune men’s ears took fire and rang. | 40 |
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| Even all men’s eyes and ears | |
| With fiery sound and tears | |
| Wax’d hot, and cheeks caught flame and eyelid light, | |
| At those high songs of thine | |
| That stung the sense like wine, | 45 |
| Or fell more soft than dew or snow by night, | |
| Or wail’d as in some flooded cave | |
| Sobs the strong broken spirit of a wave. | |
| |
| But we, our Master, we | |
| Whose hearts uplift to thee, | 50 |
| Ache with the pulse of thy remember’d song, | |
| We ask not nor await | |
| From the clench’d hands of fate, | |
| As thou, remission of the world’s old wrong; | |
| Respite we ask not, nor release; | 55 |
| Freedom a man may have, he shall not peace. | |
| |
| Though thy most fiery hope | |
| Storm heaven, to set wide ope | |
| The all-sought-for gate whence God or Chance debars | |
| All feet of men, all eyes— | 60 |
| The old night resumes her skies, | |
| Her hollow hiding-place of clouds and stars, | |
| Where nought save these is sure in sight; | |
| And, paven with death, our days are roof’d with night. | |
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| One thing we can; to be | 65 |
| Awhile, as men may, free; | |
| But not by hope or pleasure the most stern | |
| Goddess, most awful-eyed, | |
| Sits, but on either side | |
| Sit sorrow and the wrath of hearts that burn, | 70 |
| Sad faith that cannot hope or fear, | |
| And memory grey with many a flowerless year. | |
| |
| Not that in stranger’s wise | |
| I lift not loving eyes | |
| To the fair foster-mother France, that gave | 75 |
| Beyond the pale fleet foam | |
| Help to my sires and home, | |
| Whose great sweet breast could shelter those and save | |
| Whom from her nursing breasts and hands | |
| Their land cast forth of old on gentler lands. | 80 |
| |
| Not without thoughts that ache | |
| For theirs and for thy sake, | |
| I, born of exiles, hail thy banish’d head; | |
| I whose young song took flight | |
| Toward the great heat and light | 85 |
| On me a child from thy far splendour shed, | |
| From thine high place of soul and song, | |
| Which, fallen on eyes yet feeble, made them strong. | |
| |
| Ah, not with lessening love | |
| For memories born hereof, | 90 |
| I look to that sweet mother-land, and see | |
| The old fields and fair full streams, | |
| And skies, but fled like dreams | |
| The feet of freedom and the thought of thee; | |
| And all between the skies and graves | 95 |
| The mirth of mockers and the shame of slaves. | |
| |
| She, kill’d with noisome air, | |
| Even she! and still so fair, | |
| Who said ‘Let there be freedom,’ and there was | |
| Freedom; and as a lance | 100 |
| The fiery eyes of France | |
| Touch’d the world’s sleep, and as a sleep made pass | |
| Forth of men’s heavier ears and eyes | |
| Smitten with fire and thunder from new skies. | |
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| Are they men’s friends indeed | 105 |
| Who watch them weep and bleed? | |
| Because thou hast loved us, shall the gods love thee? | |
| Thou, first of men and friend, | |
| Seest thou, even thou, the end? | |
| Thou knowest what hath been, knowest thou what shall be? | 110 |
| Evils may pass and hopes endure; | |
| But fate is dim, and all the gods obscure. | |
| |
| O nursed in airs apart, | |
| O poet highest of heart, | |
| Hast thou seen time, who hast seen so many things? | 115 |
| Are not the years more wise, | |
| More sad than keenest eyes, | |
| The years with soundless feet and sounding wings? | |
| Passing we hear them not, but past | |
| The clamour of them thrills us, and their blast. | 120 |
| |
| Thou art chief of us, and lord; | |
| Thy song is as a sword | |
| Keen-edged and scented in the blade from flowers; | |
| Thou art lord and king; but we | |
| Lift younger eyes, and see | 125 |
| Less of high hope, less light on wandering hours; | |
| Hours that have borne men down so long, | |
| Seen the right fail, and watch’d uplift the wrong. | |
| |
| But thine imperial soul, | |
| As years and ruins roll | 130 |
| To the same end, and all things and all dreams | |
| With the same wreck and roar | |
| Drift on the dim same shore, | |
| Still in the bitter foam and brackish streams | |
| Tracks the fresh water-spring to be | 135 |
| And sudden sweeter fountains in the sea. | |
| |
| As once the high God bound | |
| With many a rivet round | |
| Man’s saviour, and with iron nail’d him through, | |
| At the wild end of things, | 140 |
| Where even his own bird’s wings | |
| Flagg’d, whence the sea shone like a drop of dew, | |
| From Caucasus beheld below | |
| Past fathoms of unfathomable snow; | |
| |
| So the strong God, the chance | 145 |
| Central of circumstance, | |
| Still shows him exile who will not be slave; | |
| All thy great fame and thee | |
| Girt by the dim strait sea | |
| With multitudinous walls of wandering wave; | 150 |
| Shows us our greatest from his throne, | |
| Fate-stricken, and rejected of his own. | |
| |
| Yea, he is strong, thou say’st, | |
| A mystery many-faced, | |
| The wild beasts know him and the wild birds flee; | 155 |
| The blind night sees him, death | |
| Shrinks beaten at his breath, | |
| And his right hand is heavy on the sea: | |
| We know he hath made us, and is king; | |
| We know not if he care for anything. | 160 |
| |
| Thus much, no more, we know; | |
| He bade what is be so, | |
| Bade light be and bade night be, one by one; | |
| Bade hope and fear, bade ill | |
| And good redeem and kill, | 165 |
| Till all men be aweary of the sun | |
| And his world burn in its own flame | |
| And bear no witness longer of his name. | |
| |
| Yet though all this be thus, | |
| Be those men praised of us | 170 |
| Who have loved and wrought and sorrow’d and not sinn’d | |
| For fame or fear or gold, | |
| Nor wax’d for winter cold, | |
| Nor changed for changes of the worldly wind; | |
| Praised above men of men be these, | 175 |
| Till this one world and work we know shall cease. | |
| |
| Yea, one thing more than this, | |
| We know that one thing is, | |
| The splendour of a spirit without blame, | |
| That not the labouring years | 180 |
| Blind-born, nor any fears, | |
| Nor men nor any gods can tire or tame; | |
| But purer power with fiery breath | |
| Fills, and exalts above the gulfs of death. | |
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| Praised above men be thou, | 185 |
| Whose laurel-laden brow, | |
| Made for the morning, droops not in the night; | |
| Praised and beloved, that none | |
| Of all thy great things done | |
| Flies higher than thy most equal spirit’s flight; | 190 |
| Praised, that nor doubt nor hope could bend | |
| Earth’s loftiest head, found upright to the end. | |
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