Many a thought—the germ of a whole world—
And many like some song of gentlest being,
Many—the history of a coming race—
Still hid from human seeing.
There, too, I found the type of my own passion,
And thy sweetheart with every charm invested.
There, too, our mutual loves in heaven’s pure ray
Like two bright cloudlets rested.
And on this love of ours the Lord divine
Looked kind and fondly from his throne of
glory.
And choirs of youthful angels ranged around
Chanted its simple story.
XXVII.
All ye who labour sore opprest,
Come unto me to compass rest,
Here from your loins the burden loose,
And quench the spring of sorrows sluice.
Love’s empire I establish here,
Where heart meets heart in friendship dear,
And what so grief the spirit tries,
Shall melt in heavenly harmonies.
Here envy shall revenge forego,
And speech in sweetest song shall flow,
Here, lions modify their throat,
And harpies stock the pigeon cote.
