XI.
How can we sit here and not thrill
With but the pleasure of past time?
This footpath winding round the hill
Should stir us like remember’d rhyme
Nay! for the dull and sluggish brain
Is spurred to action all in vain,
And when the spirit cannot rise
Through natural feeling into light,
No perfumed air, no splendid skies,
Can lend it wings for flight.
XII.
Come, then, and leave the sovereign sea
To sparkle in the laughing air;
Another day its face will be
No less refulgent, no less fair,
And we by custom be made strong
To bear what we desired so long;
To-day the slackening nerves demand
A milder light, a sadder air,
Some corner of forgotten land,
Still winter-like and bare.