 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
XIX.
Nations, their mission o'er, their office done,Are forcibly drawn downwards; and that tide
Which raised them, homeward summoned doth subside.
What man by art can stay the sinking sun,
Or Spring departing when her goal is won?
States too are transient! longer none may bide
When once, its lesson taught or place supplied,
That steadying weight by it sustained is gone.
Nations, be wise! Whate'er the course ye hold,
Strive that your furthest aim subservient be
To the virtuous progress of Humanity.
Woe to that greatness which commercial gold
Alone creates, or seals. Such leaves no trace,
Sinking; and lighter things float up into its place.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |