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WORDSWORTH.*

Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour;
England hath need of thee : she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
0, raise us up! return to us again;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart :
Thou hadst a voice, whose sound was like the sea:
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free;
So didst thou travel on life's common way,
In cheerful godliness: and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

He, most sublime of bards, whose lay divine
Sung of the Fall of Man, was in his style
Naked and stern; and to effeminate ears
Perchance ev'n harsh; but who will dare dispute
His strength and grandeur ? What bright glories

shine Upon the towers of his gigantic pile, Which neither storms nor Time's destruction fears,

* Written in 1802.

Eternal growth of an eternal root !
How plain the words, that with essential thought,
Pure, heavenly incorporeal,—by the skill
Of angels' tongues how marvellously wrought,-
The web ethereal, where the serpent's ill
Brought woe and ruin into Paradise,
And drove the sire of man from Eden's bliss !

II. Not Milton's holy genius could secure In life his name from insult and from scorn, And taunts of indignation ; foul as fall Upon the vilest tribe of human kind! Nor yet untainted could his heart endure The calumnies his patience should have borne : For words revengeful started at his call, And blotted the effulgence of his mind. But, O, how frail the noblest soul of man! Not o’er aggressive blame the bard arose ; His monarch's deeds 'twas his with spleen to scan; And on his reign the gates of mercy close ! He had a hero's courage; but, too stern, He could not soft submission's dictates learn !

E. B.

END OF VOL. I.

LONDON:

PRINTED BY A. J. VALPY, M.A.

RED LION COURT, FLEET STREET.

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