Time may restore us in his course 60
Goethe's sage mind and Byron's force;
But where will Europe's latter hour
Again find Wordsworth's healing power?
Others will teach us how to dare,
And against fear our breast to steel; 65
Others will strengthen us to bear--
But who, ah! who, will make us feel
The cloud of mortal destiny?
Others will front it fearlessly--
But who, like him, will put it by? 70

Keep fresh the grass upon his grave
O Rotha, deg. with thy living wave! deg.72
Sing him thy best! for few or none
Hears thy voice right, now he is gone.

THE SCHOLAR-GIPSY deg.

Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill;
Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes deg.! deg.2
No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed,
Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats,
Nor the cropp'd herbage shoot another head. 5
But when the fields are still,
And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest,
And only the white sheep are sometimes seen;
Cross and recross deg. the strips of moon-blanch'd green, deg.9
Come, shepherd, and again begin the quest! 10

Here, where the reaper was at work of late--
In this high field's dark corner, where he leaves
His coat, his basket, and his earthen cruse, deg. deg.13
And in the sun all morning binds the sheaves,
Then here, at noon, comes back his stores to use-- 15
Here will I sit and wait,
While to my ear from uplands far away
The bleating of the folded flocks is borne,
With distant cries of reapers in the corn deg.-- deg.19
All the live murmur of a summer's day. 20

Screen'd is this nook o'er the high, half-reap'd field,
And here till sun-down, shepherd! will I be.
Through the thick corn the scarlet poppies peep,
And round green roots and yellowing stalks I see
Pale pink convolvulus in tendrils creep; 25
And air-swept lindens yield
Their scent, and rustle down their perfumed showers
Of bloom on the bent grass where I am laid,
And bower me from the August sun with shade;
And the eye travels down to Oxford's towers. deg. deg.30

And near me on