Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years' Darling of a pigmy size!
We murder to dissect.
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.
Two voices are there; one is of the Sea, One of the Mountains; each a mighty Voice: In both from age to age Thou didst rejoice, They were thy chosen Music, Liberty!
O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live,
And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen.
The wealthiest man among us is the best:
So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay.
Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee:
Knowledge and increase of enduring joy From the great Nature that exists in works Of mighty Poets.