I do but sing because I must; and pipe but as the linnets sing.

Through the ages one increasing purpose runs.

Either sex alone is half itself.

Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

Short swallow-flights of song, that dip Their wings in tears, and skim away.

For this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.

Never, oh! never, nothing will die; The stream flows, The wind blows, The cloud fleets, The heart beats, Nothing will die.