His high endeavours are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright.

Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.

Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.

The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart; he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky!

Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled; And Shakespeare at his side,-a freight, If clay could think and mind were weight, For him who bore the world!

The ocean is a mighty harmonist.