and wrong and woe
As ocean-ward dost go,
Thou also hast thy treasures!--Life, sublime
In its own sweet simplicity:--life for love:
Heroic martyr-death:--
Man sees them not: but they are seen above.

_One in black array_; Sir T. More's daughter, Margaret Roper.

_That Hall_; Westminster, where More was tried: _That other place_; Tower
Hill.

_The vision of her girlhood_; More taught his own children, and was like
a child with them. He 'would take grave scholars and statesmen into the
garden to see his girls' rabbit-hutches. . . . _I have given you kisses
enough_, he wrote to his little ones, _but stripes hardly ever_': (Green,
B. V: ch. ii).

_The wonders_; See first note to _Grocyn at Oxford_.

_In his large embrace_; More may be said to have represented the highest
aim and effort of the 'new learning' in England. He is the flower of our
Renaissance in genius, wisdom, and beauty of nature. 'When ever,' says
Erasmus in a famous passage, 'did Nature mould a character more gentle,
endearing, and happy, than Thomas More's?'

AT FOUNTAINS

1539-1862

Blest hour, as on green happy slopes I lie,
Gray walls around and high,
While long-ranged arches lessen on the view,
And one high gracious curve
Of shaftless window frames the limpid blue.

--God's altar erst, where wind-set rowan now
Waves its green-finger'd bough,
And the brown tiny creeper mounts the bole
With curious eye alert,
And beak that tries each insect-haunted hole,

And lives her gentle life from nest to nest,
And dies undispossess'd:
Whilst all the air is quick with noise of birds
Where once the chant went up;
Now musical with a song more sweet than words.

Sky-roof'd and bare and deep in dewy sod,
Still 'tis the house of God!
Beauty by desolation unsubdued:--
And all the past is here,
Thronging with thought this holy solitude.

I see the taper-stars, the altars gay;
And those who crouch and pray;
The white-robed crowd in close monastic stole,
Who hither fled the world
To find the world again within the soul.

Yet here the pang of Love's defeat, the pride
Of life unsatisfied,
Might win repose or anodyne; here the weak,
Armour'd against themselves,
Exchange true guiding for obedience meek.

Through day, through night, here, in the fragrant air,
Their hours are struck by prayer;
Freed from the bonds of freedom, the distress
Of choice, on life's storm-sea
They gaze unharm'd, and know th