On a fair prospect some have looked, And felt, as I have heard them say, As if the moving time had been A thing as steadfast as the scene On which they gazed themselves away.

Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock Of history?

The child shall become father to the man.

For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.

The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about; and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.

Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.

But who would force the soul tilts with a straw Against a champion cased in adamant