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—Again he wanders forth at will,
They moved about in open sight,
To and fro, for his delight.
He knew the Rocks which Angels haunt
On the Mountains visitant;
He hath kenn'd them taking wing:
And the Caves where Faeries sing
He hath entered; and been told
By Voices how Men liv'd of old.
Among the Heavens his eye can see
Face of thing that is to bet
And, if Men report him right.
He can whisper words of might.
—Now another day is come,
Fitter hope, and nobler doom:
He hath thrown aside his Crook,
And hath buried deep his Book f
Armour rusting in his Halls
On the blood of Clifford calls;—
'' Quell the Scot," exclaims the Lance,
Bear me to the heart of France,
Is the longing of the Shield—
Tell thy name, thou trembling Field;
Field of death, where'er thou be,
Groan thou with our victory!
Happy day, and mighty hour,
When our Shepherd, in his power,
Mail'd and hors'd, with lance and sword,
To his Ancestors restored,
Like a reappearing Star, . * .
Like a glory from afar,
First shall head the Flock of War!"
Alas! the fervent Harper did not know
In him the savage Virtue of the Race,
Glad were the Vales, and every cottage hearth;
Composed at Gbasmekt, during a walk, one Evening, after a stormy day, the Author having just read in a Newspaper that the duaolution of Ms. Fox was hourly expected.
Loud is the Vale! the Voice is up
With which she speaks when storms are gone,
A mighty Unison of streams!
Of all her Voices, One!
Loud is the Vale; — this inland Depth