POETRY.
TO MATTHEW ARNOLD IN AMERICA.
0 roar ! who hest left awhile, For larger land and sea, The narrow limits of our isle,— What gain is come to thee ?
What higher dreams ? what holier mood P What hopes for unborn years P What noble deeds have warmed thy blood ? What sorrows waked thy tears ?
What bast thou seen in sea or sky ? What in the wider earth P What new light flashing on the eye ? What loveliness or worth ?
What ecstacy in dancing foam ?
What wrath in roaring sea ?
We are thy brethren,—here thy home : We look to share with thee.
Too long thy lyre untouched has lien, And thy melodious voice Ilas tones that seem not truly thine:— Is this, is this thy choice ?
Ah, yet consider it again !
Thy Thyrsis song of yore; We borrow thy lost friend's refrain, And bid thee sing once more !
F. W. B.
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