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230
ON A DRAWING OF NORWICH MARKET-PLACE
BY COTMAN. TAKEN IN 1807.
“Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men.”
Milton.
And the busy hum of men.”
Milton.
Moments there are, in which
We feel it is not good to be alone!
Shrined in our narrow niche,
As if we would all fellowship disown.
We feel it is not good to be alone!
Shrined in our narrow niche,
As if we would all fellowship disown.
And least of all—for me,
A poor recluse and book-worm, is it good
An alien thus to be,
Standing aloof from my own flesh and blood!
A poor recluse and book-worm, is it good
An alien thus to be,
Standing aloof from my own flesh and blood!
In desk-work through the day,
In minstrel labour to the noon of night,
I would not wear away
My sympathy with every social right.
In minstrel labour to the noon of night,
I would not wear away
My sympathy with every social right.
231
In many an hour of thought,
And solitary, musing mood of mind,
Good is it to be brought
Thus into intercourse with humankind!
And solitary, musing mood of mind,
Good is it to be brought
Thus into intercourse with humankind!
To see the populous crowd
Who throng the busy market's ample space;
To hear their murmur loud;
And watch the workings of each busy face.
Who throng the busy market's ample space;
To hear their murmur loud;
And watch the workings of each busy face.
To let my fancy roam,
As fancy will, would we but grant her leave,
With each—unto his home!
There finding what may glad the heart—or grieve!
As fancy will, would we but grant her leave,
With each—unto his home!
There finding what may glad the heart—or grieve!
On all around to look,
With a true heart to feel and sympathize;
As reading in a book,
Those countless windows—looking down like eyes—
With a true heart to feel and sympathize;
As reading in a book,
Those countless windows—looking down like eyes—
On the dense mass below!
Oh! who can guess what feelings, past and gone,
Of varied weal or woe,
Throbbed in the busiest there—or lookers-on!
Oh! who can guess what feelings, past and gone,
Of varied weal or woe,
Throbbed in the busiest there—or lookers-on!
232
Needs there a graver thought,
To give the motley scene more solemn power?
How quickly is it brought
By that old church's lengthened roof and tower!
To give the motley scene more solemn power?
How quickly is it brought
By that old church's lengthened roof and tower!
It looks down on the scene,
Where buyers—sellers—earn their daily bread;
Forming a link between
The busy living—and the silent dead!
Where buyers—sellers—earn their daily bread;
Forming a link between
The busy living—and the silent dead!
And, ever and anon,
High above all that hubbub's mingled swell,
For some one—dead and gone,
Is heard its deep, sonorous funeral bell!
High above all that hubbub's mingled swell,
For some one—dead and gone,
Is heard its deep, sonorous funeral bell!
Thirty-eight years gone by,
Thus did this motley, moving medley look!
And still, unto mine eye,
It utters more than any printed book.
Thus did this motley, moving medley look!
And still, unto mine eye,
It utters more than any printed book.
Its transcript—to my heart,
Tells more than prose or verse can ever scan,
In glimpses that impart
The natural brotherhood of man with man!
Tells more than prose or verse can ever scan,
In glimpses that impart
The natural brotherhood of man with man!
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