Page:The princess; a medley (IA princessmedley00tennrich).pdf/76

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THE PRINCESS;
Wiser to weep a true occasion gone,But trim our sails, and let the old proverb serveWhile down the streams that buoy each separate craftTo the issue, goes, like glittering bergs of ice,Throne after throne, and molten on the wasteBecomes a cloud: for all things serve their timeToward that great year of equal mights and rights,Nor would I fight with iron laws, in the endFound golden: let the past be past; let beTheir cancell'd Babels; tho' the rough kex breakThe starr'd mosaic, and the wild goat hangUpon the pillar, and the wild figtree splitTheir monstrous idols, care not while we hearA trumpet in the distance pealing newsOf better, and Hope, a poising eagle, burnsAbove the unrisen morrow:' and then to me;'Know you no song of your own land,' she said,'Not such as moans about the retrospect,But deals with the other distance and the huesOf promise; not a death's-head at the wine,'
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