The heart from all in nature bright
Must gather all the rays;—
Why on our life should censure fall?
The torch that fires with envy all
Was kindled first at passion’s blaze.
No—never from a tranquil breast
Such heavenly raptures found their way;
The concord wild, the sweet unrest,
Wherewith a subject world we sway.
The God that ruled o’er Homer’s birth,