Is there naught else?—you say,— No braver prospect far away? No gladder song, no ringing call Beyond the misty mountain-wall? And were it thus indeed, I know Your hearts would still with courage glow; I know how yon historic stream Is laden yet, as in the past, With dreamful longings on it cast By those who saunter from the crown Of this broad slope, their reverend Academe,— Who reach the meadowed banks, and lay them down On the green sward, and set their faces south, Embarked in Fancy’s shallop there, And with the current seek the river’s mouth, Finding the outer ocean grand and fair. Ay, like the stream’s perpetual tide, Wave after wave each blithe, successive throng Must join the main and wander far and wide. To you the golden, vanward years belong! Ye need not fear to leave the shore: Not seldom youth has shamed the sage With riper wisdom,—but to age Youth, youth, returns no more! Be yours the strength by will to conquer fate, Since to the man who sees his purpose clear, And gains that knowledge of his sphere Within which lies all happiness,— Without, all danger and distress,— And seeks the right, content to strive and wait, To him all good things flow, nor honor crowns him late. VIII. PHAROS. One such there was, that brother elder-born And loftiest,—from your household torn In the rathe spring-time, ere His steps could seek their olden pathways here. Mourn! Mourn, for your Mother mourns, of him bereft,— Her strong one! he is fallen: But has left His works your heritage and guide, Through East and West his stalwart fame divide. Mourn, for the liberal youth, The undaunted spirit whose quintessence rare, Fanned by the Norseland air, Saw flaming in its own white heat the truth That Man, whate’er his ancestry, Tanned by what sun or exiled from what shore, Hears in his soul the high command,—Be Free!