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There methinks would be enjoyment more than in this

march of mind, In the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts that

shake mankind.

There the passions cramp'd no longer shall have scope

and breathing-space; I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my

dusky race.

Iron-jointed, supple-sinew'd, they shall dive, and they

shall run, Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their lances

in the sun ;

Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rainbows

of the brooks, Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable


Fool, again the dream, the fancy! but I know my

words are wild, But I count the gray barbarian lower than the

Christian child.

1, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our glorious

gains, Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast with

lower pains !

Mated with a squalid savage-what to me were sun

or clime ? I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of


I that rather held it better men should perish one by

one, Than that earth should stand at gaze like Joshua's

moon in Ajalon!

Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward

let us range. Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing

grooves of change.

Thro' the shadow of the globe we sweep into the

younger day: Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of


Mother-Age (for mine I knew not) help me as when

life begun : Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the lightnings,

weigh the Sun,

O, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath not

set. Ancient founts of inspiration well thro' all my fancy

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Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Locksley

Hall ! Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the

roof-tree fall.

Comes a vapour from the margin, blackening over

heath and holt, Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a


Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire

or snow; For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and

I go.


I waited for the train at Coventry ;
I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge
To watch the three tall spires ; and there I shaped
The city's ancient legend into this :-

Not only we, the latest seed of Time,
New men, that in the flying of a wheel
Cry down the past, not only we, that prate
Of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well,
And loathed to see them overtax'd ; but she
Did more, and underwent, and overcame,
The woman of a thousand summers back,
Godiva, wife to that grim Earl, who ruled
In Coventry : for when he laid a tax
Upon his town, and all the mothers brought
Their children, clamouring, “If we pay, we starve !"
She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode
About the hall, anong his dogs, alone,
His beard a foot before him, and his hair
A yard behind. She told him of their tears,

And pray'd him, “If they pay this tax, they starve."
Whereat he stared, replying, half-amazed,
“ You would not let your little finger ache
For such as these ?”—“But I would die,” said she.
He laugh’d, and swore by Peter and by Paul :
Then fillip'd at the diamond in her ear ;
“O ay, ay, ay, you talk !”—“Alas !” she said,
“But prove me what it is I would not do."
And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand,
He answer'd, “Ride you naked thro' the town,
And I repeal it ;” and nodding, as in scorn,
He parted, with great strides among his dogs.

So left alone, the passions of her mind,
As winds from all the compass shift and blow,
Made war upon each other for an hour,
Till pity won. She sent a herald forth,
And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all
The hard condition ; but that she would loose
The people : therefore, as they loved her well,
From then till noon no foot should pace the street,
No eye look down, she passing; but that all
Should keep within, door shut, and window barr'd.

Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there
Unclasp'd the wedded eagles of her belt,
The grim Earl's gift ; but ever at a breath
She linger’d, looking like a summer moon
Half-dipt in cloud : anon she shook her head,
And shower'd the rippled ringlets to her knee ;

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