Whatever of true life there was in thee 50
Leaps in our age's veins;
Wield still thy bent and empery,
And shake thine idle chains;--
To thee thy dross is clinging,
For us thy martyrs die, thy prophets see,
Thy poets still are singing.
Leaps in our age's veins;
Wield still thy bent and empery,
And shake thine idle chains;--
To thee thy dross is clinging,
For us thy martyrs die, thy prophets see,
Thy poets still are singing.
James Russell Lowell
