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Robert Laurence Binyon - MiltonRobert Laurence Binyon - Milton
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An Ode Soul of England, dost thou sleep, Lulled or dulled, thy mighty youth forgotten? Of the world`s wine hast thou drunk too deep? Hast thou sown more than thy hands can reap? Turn again thine ear To that song severe In thine hour of storm and war begotten! Here in towered London`s throng, In her streets, with Time`s new murmur seething, Milton pacing mused his haughty song; Here he sleeps out feud, fret, and wrong. Nay, that spirit august Tramples death`s low dust, Still for us is kindled, burning, breathing. He, on whose earth--darkened sight Rose horizons of the empyrean And the ordered spheres` unhasting flight; He who saw, where round the heart of Light Seraphs ardent--eyed Flamed in circle wide, Quiring music of their solemn paean, When through space a trouble ran (Like a flush on serene skies arisen) That from this dim spot of earth began-- Rumour of the world`s new marvel, Man, From whose heart--beat sped Hope, hazard, and dread Past earth`s borders to hell`s fiery prison: He who saw the Anarch`s hate Tower, winged for woe; the serpent charming Eve in her imperilled bower; the Gate Barred, and those two forms that desolate Mid the radiant spheres Wept first human tears; Earlier war in heaven and angels arming: He who, like his Samson, bowed, Toiling, hardly--tasked and night--enfolded, Steered his proud course to one purpose vowed, As an eagle beats through hailing cloud Strong--winged and alone, Seeking skies unknown: He whose verse, majestically moulded, Moves like armed and bannered host Streaming irresistible, or abounding River in a land`s remoteness lost, Poured from solitary peaks of frost, And far histories brings Of old realms and kings, With high fates of fallen Man resounding: This is England`s voice that rang Over Europe; this the soul unshaken That from darkness a great splendour sang, Beauty mightier for the cost and pang; Of our blood and name Risen, our spirits to claim, To enlarge, to summon, to awaken.
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