Peace to their Spirits! why should Poesy 85 Yield to the lure of vain regret, and hover In gloom on wings with confidence outspread To move in sunshine?--Utter thanks, my Soul! Tempered with awe, and sweetened by compassion For them who in the shades of sorrow dwell, 90 That I--so near the term to human life Appointed by man’s common heritage,[78] Frail as the frailest, one withal (if that Deserve a thought) but little known to fame-- Am free to rove where Nature’s loveliest looks, 95 Art’s noblest relics, history’s rich bequests, Failed to reanimate and but feebly cheered The whole world’s Darling--free to rove at will O’er high and low, and if requiring rest, Rest from enjoyment only. Thanks poured forth 100 For what thus far hath blessed my wanderings, thanks Fervent but humble as the lips can breathe Where gladness seems a duty--let me guard Those seeds of expectation which the fruit Already gathered in this favoured Land 105 Enfolds within its core. The faith be mine, That He who guides and governs all, approves When gratitude, though disciplined to look Beyond these transient spheres, doth wear a crown Of earthly hope put on with trembling hand; 110 Nor is least pleased, we trust, when golden beams, Reflected through the mists of age, from hours Of innocent delight, remote or recent, Shoot but a little way--’tis all they can-- Into the doubtful future. Who would keep 115 Power must resolve to cleave to it through life, Else it deserts him, surely as he lives. Saints would not grieve nor guardian angels frown If one--while tossed, as was my lot to be, In a frail bark urged by two slender oars 120 Over waves rough and deep,[79] that, when they broke, Dashed their white foam against the palace walls Of Genoa the superb--should there be led To meditate upon his own appointed tasks, However humble in themselves, with thoughts 125 Raised and sustained by memory of Him Who oftentimes within those narrow bounds Rocked on the surge, there tried his spirit’s strength And grasp of purpose, long ere sailed his ship To lay a new world open. Nor less prized 130 Be those impressions which incline the heart To mild, to lowly, and to seeming weak, Bend that way her desires. The dew, the storm-- The dew whose moisture fell in gentle drops On the small hyssop destined to become, 135 By Hebrew ordinance devoutly kept, A purifying instrument--the storm That shook on Lebanon the cedar’s top, And as it shook, enabling the blind roots