XXXII.

INSIDE OF KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE.

TAX not the royal Saint with vain expense,
With ill-matched aims the Architect who planned,
Albeit labouring for a scanty band

Of white-robed Scholars only, this immense
And glorious Work of fine Intelligence!

Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore
Of nicely-calculated less or more;

So deemed the Man who fashioned for the sense
These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof
Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells,
Where light and shade repose, where music dwells
Lingering and wandering on as loth to die;

Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality.

XXXIII.

THE SAME.

WHAT awful perspective! while from our sight

With gradual stealth the lateral windows hide
Their Portraitures, their stone-work glimmers, dyed
In the soft chequerings of a sleepy light.
Martyr, or King, or sainted Eremite,

Whoe'er ye be, that thus-yourselves unseen
Imbue your prison-bars with solemn sheen,
Shine on, until ye fade with coming Night!
But, from the arms of silence-list! O list!
The music bursteth into second life ;

The notes luxuriate

- every stone is kissed By sound, or ghost of sound, in mazy strife;

Heart-thrilling strains, that cast before the eye
Of the Devout a veil of ecstasy!

XXXIV.

CONTINUED.

THEY dreamt not of a perishable home
Who thus could build. Be mine, in hours of fear
Or groveling thought, to seek a refuge here;
Or through the aisles of Westminster to roam;
Where bubbles burst, and folly's dancing foam
Melts, if it cross the threshold; where the wreath
Of awe-struck wisdom droops: or let my path
Lead to that younger Pile, whose sky-like dome
Hath typified by reach of daring art

Infinity's embrace; whose guardian crest,
The silent Cross, among the stars shall spread
As now, when she hath also seen her breast
Filled with mementos, satiate with its part
Of grateful England's overflowing Dead.

XXXV.

EJACULATION.

GLORY to God! and to the Power who came

In filial duty, clothed with love divine ;
That made his human tabernacle shine'
Like Ocean burning with purpureal flame,
Or like the Alpine Mount, that takes its name
From roseate hues, far kenned at morn and even,
In hours of peace, or when the storm is driven
Along the nether region's rugged frame !

Earth prompts - Heaven urges; let us seek the light
Studious of that pure intercourse begun

When first our infant brows their lustre won;

So, like the Mountain, may we grow more bright

From unimpeded commerce with the Sun,

At the approach of all-involving night.

XXXVI.

CONCLUSION.

WHY sleeps the future, as a snake enrolled,
Coil within coil, at noon-tide? For the Word
Yields, if with unpresumptuous faith explored,
Power at whose touch the sluggard shall unfold
His drowsy rings. Look forth! that Stream behold,
THAT STREAM upon whose bosom we have passed
Floating at ease while nations have effaced

Nations, and Death has gathered to his fold
Long lines of mighty Kings-look forth, my Soul!
(Nor in this vision be thou slow to trust)
The living Waters, less and less by guilt
Stained and polluted, brighten as they roll,
Till they have reached the Eternal City -- built
For the perfected Spirits of the just!