Monastic brotherhood, upon rock Aerial.

Recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul.

Who, doomed to go in company with Pain And Fear and Bloodshed,-miserable train!- Turns his necessity to glorious gain.

The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.

The eye— it cannot choose but see; we cannot bid the ear be still; our bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our will.

Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.

In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard seat And birds and flowers once more to greet. . . .