The heart accords to nature's soul
Of which it beats a fervent pulse
That time nor danger can convulse.
And if there be a dull alloy
To dim the gushing of our joy
It is that we must turn again
To smile, to weep, to herd with men
Who, swayed by passions which they share
With brutes by nature, day by day,
Contented, hug their bonds of clay;
Their sordid chains still let them wear;
Be ours the bliss; their punishment
Companion with their crime is sent;
To see, and not to feel such joy
May well avenge their apathy.
Ideal dreams of days gone by
Illume our night of lethargy,
And quelling dull mortality
Float o'er the enraptured brain.
When those bright spirits ranked on high
Whose beaming effluence gems the sky
A mortal penance doomed to try
Adorned this world of pain:
The fame to which they dared aspire