The richest realm of all the earth Is counted still a heathen land: Lo, I, like Joshua, now go forth To give it into Israel's hand. I will not hearken blame or praise; For so should I dishonour do To that sweet Power by which these Lays Alone are lovely, good, and true; Nor credence to the world's cries give, Which ever preach and still prevent Pure passion's high prerogative To make, not follow, precedent. From love's abysmal ether rare If I to men have here made known New truths, they, like new stars, were there Before, though not yet written down. Moving but as the feelings move, I run, or loiter with delight, Or pause to mark where gentle Love Persuades the soul from height to height. Yet, know ye, though my words are gay As David's dance, which Michal scorn'd, If kindly you receive the Lay, You shall be sweetly help'd and warn'd. |