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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
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
I, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our glorious
gains, Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast with lower
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
Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let
us range. Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves
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
Comes a vapour from the margin, blackening over heath
and holt, Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunder
Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire or
snow ; For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go.