Not for a moment could I now behold A smiling sea and be what I have been: The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old; This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. 40 Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the Friend, If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore, This Work of thine I blame not, but commend; This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. Oh 'tis a passionate Work!--yet wise and well; Well chosen is the spirit that is here; That Hulk which labours in the deadly swell, This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear! And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, I love to see the look with which it braves, 50 Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time, The light'ning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. Farewell, farewell the Heart that lives alone, Hous'd in a dream, at distance from the Kind! Such happiness, wherever it be known, Is to be pitied; for 'tis surely blind. But welcome fortitude, and patient chear, And frequent sights of what is to be born! Such sights, or worse, as are before me here.-- Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. 60 ODE. _Paulo majora canamus_. _ODE_. There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparell'd in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it has been of yore;-- Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. The Rainbow comes and goes, 10 And lovely is the Rose, The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth. Now, while the Birds thus sing a joyous song, And while the young Lambs bound 20 As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief: A timely utterance gave that thought relief, And I again am strong. The Cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep, No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay, Land and sea 30 Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every Beast keep holiday, Thou Child of Joy Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd Boy!