ENOUGH
of
climbing
toil!--Ambition
treads
Here,
as
'mid
busier
scenes,
ground
steep
and
rough,
Or
slippery
even
to
peril!
and
each
step,
As
we
for
most
uncertain
recompence
Mount
toward
the
empire
of
the
fickle
clouds,
Each
weary
step,
dwarfing
the
world
below,
Induces,
for
its
old
familiar
sights,
Unacceptable
feelings
of
contempt,
With
wonder
mixed--that
Man
could
e'er
be
tied,
In
anxious
bondage,
to
such
nice
array
And
formal
fellowship
of
petty
things!
--Oh!
'tis
the
'heart'
that
magnifies
this
life,
Making
a
truth
and
beauty
of
her
own;
And
moss-grown
alleys,
circumscribing
shades,
And
gurgling
rills,
assist
her
in
the
work
More
efficaciously
than
realms
outspread,
As
in
a
map,
before
the
adventurer's
gaze--
Ocean
and
Earth
contending
for
regard.
The
umbrageous
woods
are
left--how
far
beneath!
But
lo!
where
darkness
seems
to
guard
the
mouth
Of
yon
wild
cave,
whose
jagged
brows
are
fringed
With
flaccid
threads
of
ivy,
in
the
still
And
sultry
air,
depending
motionless.
Yet
cool
the
space
within,
and
not
uncheered
(As
whoso
enters
shall
ere
long
perceive)
By
stealthy
influx
of
the
timid
day
Mingling
with
night,
such
twilight
to
compose
As
Numa
loved;
when,
in
the
Egerian
grot,
From
the
sage
Nymph
appearing
at
his
wish,
He
gained
whate'er
a
regal
mind
might
ask,
Or
need,
of
counsel
breathed
through
lips
divine.
Long
as
the
heat
shall
rage,
let
that
dim
cave
Protect
us,
there
deciphering
as
we
may
Diluvian
records;
or
the
sighs
of
Earth
Interpreting;
or
counting
for
old
Time
His
minutes,
by
reiterated
drops,
Audible
tears,
from
some
invisible
source
That
deepens
upon
fancy--more
and
more
Drawn
toward
the
centre
whence
those
sighs
creep
forth
To
awe
the
lightness
of
humanity:
Or,
shutting
up
thyself
within
thyself,
There
let
me
see
thee
sink
into
a
mood
Of
gentler
thought,
protracted
till
thine
eye
Be
calm
as
water
when
the
winds
are
gone,
And
no
one
can
tell
whither.
Dearest
Friend!
We
two
have
known
such
happy
hours
together
That,
were
power
granted
to
replace
them
(fetched
From
out
the
pensive
shadows
where
they
lie)
In
the
first
warmth
of
their
original
sunshine,
Loth
should
I
be
to
use
it:
passing
sweet
Are
the
domains
of
tender
memory!
