VI. PERCY! when from thy wild and mighty lyre Burst forth that strain which told of Fear and Faith And Tyranny and Force and Hate and Death Vanquished by Love and Wisdom, the lost fire Of Hope which flashed from thy electric wire Burned in my breast once more, and with hushed breath I stood to see Fame's amaranthine wreath Bound round his brows whose thoughts could thus aspire. There shall it rest! and though earth's groveling throng Of owl-eyed worldlings, whose enfeebled gaze Turns back appalled from Truth's meridian blaze, See not, nor will acknowledge, be thou strong In self-support, and let thy glorious song Hold its high course—itself its fittest praise! |