Full swells the deep pure fountain of young life,
   Where on the heart and from the heart we took
   Our first and sweetest nurture, when the wife,
   Blest into mother, in the innocent look,
   Or even the piping cry of lips that brook
   No pain and small suspense, a joy perceives
   Man knows not, when from out its cradled nook
   She sees her little bud put forth its leaves —
What may the fruit be yet?—­I know not—­Cain was Eve’s.

CL.

   But here youth offers to old age the food,
   The milk of his own gift:  —­it is her sire
   To whom she renders back the debt of blood
   Born with her birth.  No; he shall not expire
   While in those warm and lovely veins the fire
   Of health and holy feeling can provide
   Great Nature’s Nile, whose deep stream rises higher
   Than Egypt’s river:  —­from that gentle side
Drink, drink and live, old man! heaven’s realm holds no such tide.

CLI.

   The starry fable of the milky way
   Has not thy story’s purity; it is
   A constellation of a sweeter ray,
   And sacred Nature triumphs more in this
   Reverse of her decree, than in the abyss
   Where sparkle distant worlds:  —­Oh, holiest nurse! 
   No drop of that clear stream its way shall miss
   To thy sire’s heart, replenishing its source
With life, as our freed souls rejoin the universe.

CLII.

   Turn to the mole which Hadrian reared on high,
   Imperial mimic of old Egypt’s piles,
   Colossal copyist of deformity,
   Whose travelled phantasy from the far Nile’s
   Enormous model, doomed the artist’s toils
   To build for giants, and for his vain earth,
   His shrunken ashes, raise this dome:  How smiles
   The gazer’s eye with philosophic mirth,
To view the huge design which sprung from such a birth!

CLIII.

   But lo! the dome—­the vast and wondrous dome,
   To which Diana’s marvel was a cell—­
   Christ’s mighty shrine above his martyr’s tomb! 
   I have beheld the Ephesian’s miracle—­
   Its columns strew the wilderness, and dwell
   The hyaena and the jackal in their shade;
   I have beheld Sophia’s bright roofs swell
   Their glittering mass i’ the sun, and have surveyed
Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem prayed;

CLIV.

   But thou, of temples old, or altars new,
   Standest alone—­with nothing like to thee —
   Worthiest of God, the holy and the true,
   Since Zion’s desolation, when that he
   Forsook his former city, what could be,
   Of earthly structures, in his honour piled,
   Of a sublimer aspect?  Majesty,
   Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled
In this eternal ark of worship undefiled.