We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, When such are wanted.

Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares!- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays.

Earth helped him with the cry of blood.

And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.

But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for humankind, Is happy as a lover.

Hearing often-times the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue.

O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice?