Page:The Colonnades a Poem.pdf/19

Of human nature. So the child of art,
Or more impressible or wider strayed,
Cries with the tears of universal man.

Hast thou a weakness—ah! he feels it now;
Or hast thou strength, strike here upon the breast,—
For he is one whose bones are hard to break.
His hair is thick, the children catch in it,
And swing and dance as from a bending elm.

He cannot house him with your honest folk.
He laughs too quick; he eats and drinks too free;
And when he stretches him, his rambling limbs
Push o'er the altars of their play-house gods.

Art thou a madman, he shall prove thy tale.
All was too visible; he too was there.

Know'st thou that heavy hic-cup of the heart
That tells how long since trouble touched the world,
Since oldest ancients call the heart the soul,
Ah, turn aside with him, and know thy friend.

Hast thou known grief, come see his little things,
Picked up when his dear children wandered off
And laid them weary down in the green vales,—
And gone they have, and left these little shoes
And toys behind them, and ah me! where are they?
Know ye where your's went? chance they strayed together.
Let's dry our eyes, and look thro' the dark woods.