Still nursing the unconquerable hope, Still clutching the inviolable shade,° °212 With a free, onward impulse brushing through, By night, the silver'd branches° of the glade-- °214 Far on the forest-skirts, where none pursue, 215 On some mild pastoral slope Emerge, and resting on the moonlit pales Freshen thy flowers as in former years With dew, or listen with enchanted ears, From the dark dingles,° to the nightingales! 220
But fly our paths, our feverish contact fly! For strong the infection of our mental strife, Which, though it gives no bliss, yet spoils for rest; And we should win thee from thy own fair life, Like us distracted, and like us unblest. 225 Soon, soon thy cheer would die, Thy hopes grow timorous, and unfix'd thy powers, And thy clear aims be cross and shifting made; And then thy glad perennial youth would fade, Fade, and grow old at last, and die like ours. 230
Then fly our greetings, fly our speech and smiles! --As some grave Tyrian° trader, from the sea, Descried at sunrise an emerging prow Lifting the cool-hair'd creepers stealthily, The fringes of a southward-facing brow 235 Among the Ægæan isles°; °236 And saw the merry Grecian coaster come, Freighted with amber grapes, and Chian wine,° °238 Green, bursting figs, and tunnies° steep'd in brine-- °239 And knew the intruders on his ancient home, 240
The young light-hearted masters of the waves-- And snatch'd his rudder, and shook out more sail; And day and night held on indignantly O'er the blue Midland waters° with the gale, °244 Betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily, 245 To where the Atlantic raves Outside the western straits°; and unbent sails °247 There, where down cloudy cliffs, through sheets of foam, Shy traffickers, the dark Iberians come°; °249 And on the beach undid his corded bales.° °250
A MONODY, TO COMMEMORATE THE AUTHOR'S FRIEND ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH, WHO DIED AT FLORENCE, 1861
How changed is here each spot man makes or fills°! °1 In the two Hinkseys° nothing keeps the same; °2 The village street its haunted mansion lacks, And from the sign is gone Sibylla's name,° °4 And from the roofs the twisted chimney-stacks-- 5 Are ye too changed, ye hills°? °6 See, 'tis no foot of unfamiliar men To-night from Oxford up your pathway strays! Here came I often, often, in old days-- Thyrsis and I; we still had Thyrsis then. 10