Save yon foul nightman’s stifling round?
But, Tennyson, what chain should bind
The bard, the eagle of the mind,
And hold him down from mounting high,
And soaring through his native sky;
Whence he could see and point to men
The truth and clear it to their ken?
You think your golden chain too light
To quench your flame, impede your flight!
Alas! you feel, it holds you down;