And feel entranced with him. The gains of gold,
The pomp of life, the pride of circumstance,
Can ne’er convey such pleasure to the heart
Or give a bliss so pure. To her high bards
The world owes much, and more than oft is thought.
’Tis not alone that they have lit the fires
Of sacred poesy in other breasts,
And taught young bards to touch the lyric strings
To sweet, though meaner music; but the might
Of their high thoughts hath kindled in the souls