One show'd an iron coast and angry waves. And one, a full-fed river winding slow Behind And one, the reapers at their sultry toil, And one, a foreground black with stones and slags, Beyond, a line of heights, and higher All barr'd with long white cloud the scornful crags, And highest, snow and fire. And one, an English home gray twilight pour'd On dewy pastures, dewy trees, Softer than sleep-all things in order stored, A haunt of ancient Peace. Nor these alone, but every landscape fair, Or gay, or grave, or sweet, or stern, was there, Or the maid-mother by a crucifix, In tracts of pasture sunny-warm, Beneath branch-work of costly sardonyx Sat smiling, babe in arm. Or in a clear-wall'd city on the sea, Or thronging all one porch of Paradise, Or mythic Uther's deeply-wounded son And watch'd by weeping queens. Or hollowing one hand against his ear, The wood-nymph, stay'd the Ausonian king to hear Or over hills with peaky tops engrail'd, Or sweet Europa's mantle blew unclasp'd, - From one hand droop'd a crocus: one hand grasp'd Or else flush'd Ganymede, his rosy thigh Nor these alone: but every legend fair * * * * * Then in the towers I placed great bells that swung, For there was Milton like a seraph strong, And there the Ionian father of the rest; Above, the fair hall-ceiling stately-set Below was all mosaic choicely plann'd With cycles of the human tale Of this wide world, the times of every land The people here, a beast of burden slow, The heads and crowns of kings; Here rose, an athlete, strong to break or bind And here once more like some sick man declined, But over these she trod: and those great bells Began to chime. She took her throne: She sat betwixt the shining Oriels, To sing her songs alone. And thro' the topmost Oriels' colour'd flame And all those names, that in their motion were Thro' which the lights, rose, amber, emerald, blue, Flush'd in her temples and her eyes, And from her lips, as morn from Memnon, drew Rivers of melodies. No nightingale delighteth to prolong Her low preamble all alone, More than my soul to hear her echo'd song Singing and murmuring in her feastful mirth, Lord over Nature, Lord of the visible earth, Communing with herself: "All these are mine, Making sweet close of his delicious toils - To mimic heaven; and clapt her hands and cried, “I marvel if my still delight In this great house so royal-rich, and wide, 66 Be flatter'd to the height. O all things fair to sate my various eyes s! O shapes and hues that please me well! O silent faces of the Great and Wise, My Gods, with whom I dwell! "O God-like isolation which art mine, |