Forster! whose zeal hath seiz'd each written page That fell from me, and over many lands Hath clear'd for me a broad and solid way, Whence one more age, aye, haply more than one, May be arrived at (all through thee), accept No false or faint or perishable thanks. From better men, and greater, friendship turn'd Thy willing steps to me. From Eliot's cell Death-dark, from Hampden's sadder battle-field, From steadfast Cromwell's tribunitian throne, Loftier than kings' supported knees could mount, Hast thou departed with me, and hast climbed Cecropian highths, and ploughed AEgean waves. Therefore it never grieved me when I saw That she who guards those regions and those seas Hath lookt with eyes more gracious upon thee. There are no few like that conspirator Who, under pretext of power-worship, fell At Caesar's feet, only to hold him down While others stabb'd him with repeated blows: And there are more who fling light jibes, immerst In gutter-filth, against the car that mounts Weighty with triumph up the Sacred Way. Protect in every place my stranger guests, Born in the lucid land of free pure song, Now first appearing on repulsive shores, Bleak, and where safely none but natives move, Red-poll'd, red-handed, siller-grasping men. Ah! lead them far away, for they are used To genial climes and gentle speech; but most Cymodameia: warn the Tritons off While she ascends, while through the opening plain Of the green sea (brighten'd by bearing it) Gushes redundantly her golden hair. |