Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new :

That which they have done but earnest of the things that they shall do :
For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see,
Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be ;

Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails,
Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales;

Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain'd a ghastly dew From the nations' airy navies grappling in the central blue ;

Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm,
With the standards of the peoples plunging thro' the thunder-storm ;
Till the war-drum throbb'd no longer, and the battle-flags were furl'd
In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world.
There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe,
And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law.

So I triumph'd ere my passion sweeping thro' me left me dry,
Left me with the palsied heart, and left me with the jaundiced eye ;

Eye, to which all order festers, all things here are out of joint :
Science moves, but slowly slowly, creeping on from point to point:

Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion creeping nigher,
Glares at one that nods and winks behind a slowly-dying fire.

Yet I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs,
And the thoughts of men are widen'd with the process of the suns.

What is that to him that reaps not harvest of his youthful joys,
Tho' the deep heart of existence beat for ever like a boy's ?

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore,
And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he bears a laden breast,
Full of sad experience, moving toward the stillness of his rest.

Hark, my merry comrades call me, sounding on the bugle-horn,
They to whom my foolish passion were a target for their scorn :

Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a moulder'd string ?
I am shamed thro' all my nature to have loved so slight a thing.

Weakness to be wroth with weakness ! woman's pleasure, woman's painNature made them blinder motions bounded in a shallower brain :

Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, match'd with mine,
Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine-

Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. Ah, for some retreat
Deep in yonder shining Orient, where my life began to beat ;
Where in wild Mahratta-battle fell my father evil-starr'd ;-
I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish uncle's ward.
Or to burst all links of habit—there to wander far away,
On from island unto island at the gateways of the day.
Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and happy skies,
Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, knots of Paradise.

Never comes the trader, never floats an European flag,
Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, swings the trailer from the crag ;
Droops the heavy-blossom'd bower, hangs the heavy-fruited tree- .
Summer isles of Eden lying in dark-purple spheres of sea.

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 books—

Fool, again the dream, the fancy! but I know my words are wild,
But I count the gray barbarian lower than the Christian child.

I, 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 time-

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 Cathay.

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.

0, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath not set. Ancient founts of inspiration well thro' all my fancy yet.

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 thunderbolt.

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 waitea for the train at Coventry ; ,
I hung with grooms and porters on the

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, among his dogs, alone, His beard a foot before him, and his hair A yard behind. She told him of their


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,

The hard condition ; but that she would


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


Should keep within, door shut, and

window barrd. Then fled she to her inmost bower,

and there Unclasp'd the wedded eagles of her belt, The gri Earl's gift ; but ever at a breathm 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 ; L’nclad herself in haste; adown the stair Stole on ; and, like a creeping sunbeam,

slid From pillar unto pillar, until she reach'd The gateway; there she found her palfrey

The white-flower'd elder-thicket from the

field Gleam thro' the Gothic archways in the

wall. Then she rode back, clothed on with

chastity : And one low churl, compact of thankless

earth, The fatal byword of all years to come, Boring a little auger-hole in fear, Peep'd—but his eyes, before they had

their will, Were shrivell’d into darkness in his

head, And dropt before him. So the Powers,

who wait On noble deeds, cancell'd a sense mis.

used; And she, that knew not, pass'd : and all

at once, With twelve great shocks of sound, the

shameless noon Was clash'd and hammer'd from a

hundred towers, One after one but even then she gain'd Her bower; whence reissuing, robed

and crown'd, To meet her lord, she took the tax away And built herself an everlasting name.


In purple blazon'd with armorial gold. Then she rode forth, clothed on with

chastity : The deep air listen'd round her as she

rode, And all the low wind hardly breathed for

fear. The little wide-mouth'd heads upon the

spout Had cunning eyes to see : the barking cur Made her cheek flame : her palfrey's

footfall shot Light horrors thro’ her pulses : the blind

walls Were full of chinks and holes ; and over

head Fantastic gables, crowding, stared : but


O LADY FLORA, let me speak :

A pleasant hour has passed away
While, dreaming on your damask cheek,

The dewy sister-eyelids lay. As by the lattice you reclined,

I went thro' many wayward moods To see you dreaming-and, behind,

A summer crisp with shining woods.


Not less thro' all bore up, till, last, she


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