There the passions cramp'd no longer shall have scope

and breathing-space ; I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.

Iron-jointed, supple-sinew'd, they shall dive, and they

shall run, Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their lances in

the sun;

Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rainbows of

the brooks, Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books

Fool, again the dream, the fancy! but I know my words

are wild, But I count the gray barbarian lower than the Christian

child.

I, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our glorious

gains, Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast with lower

pains !

Mated with a squalid savage—what to me were sun or

clime ? I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time

I that rather held it better men should perish one by

one, Than that earth should stand at gaze like Joshua's moon

in Ajalon!

Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let

us range. Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves

of change.

Thro' the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger

day : Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.

Mother-age (for mine I knew not) help me as when

life begun : Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the lightnings,

weigh the Sun

0, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath not

set. Ancient founts of inspiration well thro' all my fancy yet.

Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Locksley

Hall ! Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the roof

tree fall.

Comes a vapour from the margin, blackening over heath

and holt, Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunder

bolt.

Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire or

snow ; For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go.