IV.
An answering chord to passion's lyre
Within her silent frame I woke;
She gave me back my kiss of fire,
And in my heart's deep language spoke.
Then lived for me the tree, the flower,
The silver streams in music sang;
All soulless things in that bright hour,
With echoes of my spirit rang.
V.
The while it sought with eager strife,
To clasp Creation with its arm,
And spring incarnated to life
In deed, or word, or sound, or form.
How glorious then the world upfolded,
Within its shrouding calyx seen!
How little when Time's hand unroll'd it!
That little, oh! how poor and mean!
VI.
But, as the wayward, rippling motion
Of some bright rock-stream gathers strength,
Until, in kingly waves of ocean,
It dashes down the height at length:
With storm, and sound, and power, crushing
The granite rock, or giant tree;
Proud in its chainless fury rushing,
To mingle with the rolling sea.
VII.
So, filled with an immortal daring,
No chains of care around his form,
Hope's impress on his forehead bearing,
The youth sprang forth amid Life's storm.
Ev'n to dim ether's palest star
Wing'd fancy bore him on untiring;
Nought was too high, and nought too far,
For those strong pinions' wild aspiring!