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At which new saying, I turned me tó hear more:
And following ón, a líttle Company I saw:
Known by rapt looks, of soaring high desire;
For Sectaríes, of their celestial Skill.
Such now be few, that from Earths mould durst tower,
Towards Living Light, as lavrock 'gainst the Sun:
Whence oft they lanterns, óf mens ages are:

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Which them, in théir lean bitter-sweet life-days,
More oft reprove. Which past, too late those crown;
Their silent hearse, with blossoms óf vain flowers.
Two young men stayed, of cheer magnanimous;
Of that small passing fellowship, ón the terrace.
I gave ear únto words which they professed.
They likened souls, that sounding hear aloft;
Some Harp of Heaven, whose chords be beams of light.
Like aged, and éach to other sworn those were:
Both White-cliffed Albions sons, the Muses Isle.
Quaint antique tome lay open, in thís ones hand;
The scripture azure, wíth vermilion limned.
The Title charactered was, in Sun-bright gold;
Dan Chaucers Merry Tales: in Temple of Fame,
Most worthy name, for aye to be enrolled:
Fór the right-wise humanity óf his verse.
Yet sooth to say, not all commendable is,
That Geoffrey writ: too oft he speaketh full large;
Whén that sets forth churls' bórel talk, his page.
But he, in hís high sentence, ín the rest;
Yet beckoneth to us, ín his well-knit measures:

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From the homely ínfancy óf right English verse.
Of Custance, cast away in Sea-deeps' waves;
Long buffeted, far from land and human kind,
The noble legend was; for whom with sighs,
Surprised be, ánd suspent that read, our hearts.
Chanted his fere an hymn, when this had ceased,
Of Heavenly Beauty: wíth soft warbling voice.
(How I admired the turning of each verse!)
Of Edmund, my lodestar, the ditty was:
(Whose Art is mine endeavour to restore.)
Hé who déscant sang, amóng his shepherd peers;
As lavrock doth, which lifted úp of Love;
In spires exulteth in the Element;
Devoid of all offence of groundling flesh.
Went other by; but somewhat in their steps,
Halting, behind that gentle fellowship.
The transports óf whose breasts, wherein a sense
Of Music lurks; Eolian harmoniés
Might haply sound; but that their áccords lack
Fulness of Vision, ánd diviners' art:
Being semblable unto shimmering gossamer weft;
Wafted from uplands, ón late Summers breath;
Whereof no Webster can weave a coats cloth.

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But óf that former twain, remained in place.
Quoth Friend to Friend; mongst human masteries:
To what might we compare the skill of such,
As travail tó bring forth immortal verse:
Whose every chord resoundeth human life;
With new Mæonian lofty hardihood.
Their místery it fár and súbtil artific
Excelleth that precious gem-stones cleave and set,
In dædale-wise in réfined goldsmiths' work.
Póets well-flédged words, aye bíg with orient light;
Of golden, heaven-derived beams, shed to Earth:
Be as threaded pearls of price, on living lace.
Whereto his fellow musing, made response:
Must Poet, priest of the Muses, eyewasht, dipt:
His soul in well of life; his mortal part,
In pure white lawn arrayed, and cónsecrate:
Hill-steep ascénd alóne, with painful steps:
And fróm celestial height, fetch vital breath.
And ín the Muses' garden walking sith,
(As they vouchsafe;) gather of flowers that blow
All months; with kindly fruits of every hew,
And simples, for souls health. And háving drunk,
Of springing Helicon, their learnéd well,

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Whence memory flows: there slumber fast beside,
And dream as babe, all in the ambrosial arms,
Of Nature Mother: whó his souls high seeing;
(Revealed some moment, tó his pensive vision;
As bow ís, Daughter of the air, in heaven;)
Would pourtray and body forth, wíth the gross substance,
Of mortals' speech; broidering his web of song;
With buds and blossoms, óf Euterpe taught.
His Friend.
Who is hé, who ríghtly endites melodious measures?
(Who ín his brother-man, perceives himself?)
He, in whose breast dwelleth Lóve, and Hope is left,
Ingenúous. Whose spirit lifted up;
Above cloud of unworthy fleshly sense:
Drinks of pure springs, and proffers of his cup,
To all that thirst. The same profaneth not,
A virgin Muses gift, in hís access.

First Friend.
His soul should be, as dreaming instrument:
Whose wind-weaved chords respond, to every breath.
And whereon master-hand can modulate;
What measures noblest are in human heart.


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Second Friend.
Wherefore be those too much to blame, that pinch;
Of malice, rankling ín ungenerous breast;
(Such having been, with acorns, alway fed:
Or else wont, after kind, to thistles diet:)
That might, themselves, a cattle-crib, uneath
Devise, at Master-artificers work;
And with the drivel, of vénomed lips, consperse.

Who, moved of hearts devotion, vows to Heavens
High service a Cathedral. And of such,
Unwist, upbuilds, in his few mortal years,
Of goodly stones: where naught before-time was,
Save poppies, docks, and briers, in wasteful ground.
The Site considered well, and all made plain;
And plotted out the pattern of the Place;
His strong foundations truly laid thereon:
He rears well-dressed, to reed, square, lead and line;
Up stately walls, that age-long may endure,
Under GODS Sun and Stars.
The Nave, the Aisles,
The lofty Transepts and his sacred Choir;
Be rightly well addressed, towards morning-star.
His énranged rampant buttresses, meetly upbear;

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Each one, a gracious work of masons craft,
(Pleasant to look upon;) his Fanes long flanks.
Within, the great Cathedral-structure rests
On álligned clustered pillars' striding arcs:
Their chapitérs graced with graven lily flowers
And palms; whose spandrels deckt with effigies are,
Of blesséd wights; that beckon down to us,
Of righteous paths: whose walling, white, above;
Gem-like, lo, ancient storied windows pierce;
Radiant with purple joy of Heavens light.
And ceiled all is with vault of sculptured stone;
Of noble aspect, like to palm-leaf work.
His Vow, with patient zeal, accomplished thus;
(Like as he had conceived it ín his thought:)
And furnished wíth all necessary gifts;
To Service óf the Eternal dedicate:
Trembles from floor to roof, the hallowed House;
With pealing organ-tones and anthems' chant.
Whiles the aspirátions rise, of wórshippers' hearts;
Which therein list, sequester them a space;
From troublous traffic óf the World without:
And bow their knees, untó the God of Peace.
The Western porch, for brévity, I overpass;

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Grounded, on strong óld Roman rudiments.
Likewise the round-framed marble chapter-house:
(Quaint frettéd dome on faír-wreathed pillar set;)
The devout travail, of a simple wight;
An hewer of stone, one living of days work;
After that pattern of the Tree-of-Life;
Which he beheld in Dream, and sculptured thus;
With boughs and fruits and buds. Each day he wrought
An hour, after his labour; till his task,
Like as he had conceived it, in his thought;
Was brought to end; and duly dedicate.