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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour;Milton! Thou Should'st Be Living At This Hour
``` Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour; England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; Oh! raise us up, return to us again; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a Star and dwelt apart; Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay. ```
Look at her, alone in the field, That lonely Highland girl! And Harvesting and singing by herself; Stop here, or pass by quietly! By herself, she cuts and gathers the grain, And sings a sad song. Oh listen! for the deep Vale Is filled with the sound. No Nightingale ever sang More pleasant notes to tired groups Of travelers in some shady place, Among Arabian trees:— A voice so exciting has never been heard In spring from the Cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.