Not clinging to some ancient saw ;
Not master'd by some modern term:

Not swift nor slow to change, but firm:

And in its season bring the law;

That from Discussion's lip may fall
With Life, that, working strongly, binds-
Set in all lights by many minds,

To close the interests of all.

For Nature also, cold and warm,
And moist and dry, devising long,

Thro' many agents making strong,
Matures the individual form.

Meet is it changes should control

Our being, lest we rust in ease.

We all are changed by still degrees,

All but the basis of the soul.

VOL. I.

So let the change which comes be free

To ingroove itself with that, which flies, And work, a joint of state, that plies Its office, moved with sympathy.

A saying, hard to shape in act;
For all the past of Time reveals

A bridal dawn of thunder-peals,
Wherever Thought hath wedded Fact.

Ev'n now we hear with inward strife
A motion toiling in the gloom-
The Spirit of the years to come
Yearning to mix himself with Life.

A slow-develop'd strength awaits
Completion in a painful school;
Phantoms of other forms of rule,
New Majesties of mighty States-

The warders of the growing hour,

But

vague in vapour, hard to mark;

And round them sea and air are dark

With great contrivances of Power.

Of many changes, aptly join'd,

Is bodied forth the second whole. Regard gradation, lest the soul Of Discord race the rising wind;

A wind to puff your idol-fires,

And heap their ashes on the head; To shame the boast so often made, That we are wiser than our sires.

Oh yet, if Nature's evil star

Drive men in manhood, as in youth,
To follow flying steps of Truth

Across the brazen bridge of war—

If New and Old, disastrous feud,

Must ever shock, like armed foes,

And this be true, till Time shall close, That Principles are rain'd in blood;

Not yet the wise of heart would cease
To hold his hope thro' shame and guilt,
But with his hand against the hilt,
Would pace the troubled land, like Peace;

Not less, though dogs of Faction bay,

Would serve his kind in deed and word, Certain, if knowledge bring the sword, That knowledge takes the sword away—

Would love the gleams of good that broke From either side, nor veil his eyes:

And if some dreadful need should rise

Would strike, and firmly, and one stroke:

To-morrow yet would reap to-day,

As we bear blossom of the dead;

Earn well the thrifty months, nor wed Raw Haste, half-sister to Delay.