Why should not my later pæan catch the swell of that refrain,
And, with bursts of fresh endeavor, send it down the age again?
But I know, that, while the mariner wafts along the golden year,
Broader continents of action open up in every sphere.
And I deem those noble also, who, with strong persuasive art,
Strike the chords of aspiration in a people’s lyric heart.
If in mine—of all republics the Atlantis and supreme—
There be little cause for mouthing on the old, undying theme—
Yet I falter while I say it:—ours of every crime the worst!
For the long revenge of Heaven crying loud and calling first: