I that rather held it better men should perish

one by one,

Than that earth should stand at gaze like

Joshua's moon in Ajalon!

Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward,

forward let us range.

Let the great world spin forever down the

ringing grooves of change.

Thro' the shadow of the globe we sweep into

the younger day :

Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of

Cathay.

Mother-Age (for mine I knew not) help me as

when life begun :

Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the

lightnings, weigh the Sun

O, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath

not set.

Ancient founts of inspiration well thro' all my

fancy yet.

Howsoever these things be, a long farewell

to Locksley Hall !

Now for me the woods may wither, now for

me the roof-tree fall.