There, shading pine and torrent-song Breathe midday slumber, sudden, sweet; Deep meadows woo the wayward feet; In giant elm the ring-doves moan; There, peace secure from wrong, The life that keeps its promise, there, alone! --O loftier than the wordy strife That floats o'er capitals; the chase Of florid pleasure; the blind race Of gold for gold by gamblers run, This fair Vergilian life, Where heaven and we and nature are at one! On that deep soil great Rome was sown; Our England her foundations laid:-- Hence, while the nations, change-dismay'd, To tyrant or to quack repair, A healthier heart we own, And the plant Man grows stronger than elsewhere. Should changeful commerce shun the shore, And newer, mightier races meet To push us from our empire-seat, England will round her call her own, And as in days of yore The sea-girt Isle be Freedom's central throne. Freedom, fair daughter-wife of Law; One bright face on the future cast, One reverent fix'd upon the past, And that for Hope, for Wisdom this:-- While counsels wild and raw Fly those keen eyes, and leave the land to bliss:-- Dear land, where new is one with old: Land of green hillside and of plain, Gray tower and grange and tree-fringed lane, Red crag and silver streamlet sweet, Wild wood and ruin bold, And this repose of beauty at my feet:-- Fair Vale, for summer day-dreams high, For reverie in solitude Fashion'd in Nature's finest mood; Or, sweeter yet, for fond excess Of glee, and vivid cry, Whilst happy children find more happiness Ranging the brambled hollows free For purple feast;--till, light as Hope, The little footsteps scale the slope; And from the highest height we view Our island-girdling sea Bar the green valley with a wall of blue. The poets whose landscape-pictures are here contrasted with English scenery, are Homer, Pindar, Sophocles, Theocritus, and Vergil. A HOME IN THE PALACE 1840-1861 Thrice fortunate he Who, in the palace born, has early learn'd The lore of sweet simplicity: From smiling gold his eyes inviolate turn'd, Turn'd unreturning:--Who the people's cause, The sovereign-levelling laws, Above the throne, --He made for them, not they for him,--has set; Life-lavish for his land alone, Whether she crown with gratitude, or forget:-- He, who in courts beneath the purple weight Of precedence moves sedate, By all that glare Of needful pageantry less stirr'd than still'd, Bringing a waft of natural air Through halls with pomp and flattering incense fill'd; And in the central heart's calm secret, waits The closure of the gates,