They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.
Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.
For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.