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 100 WORDSWORTH

And glancing, gleaming, dark or bright,

Moved to and fro, for his delight.

He knew the rocks which Angels haunt

Upon the mountains visitant;

He hath kenned them taking wing :

And into caves where Faeries sing

He hath entered; and been told

By Voices how men lived of old.

Among the heavens his eye can see

The face of thing that is to be;

And, if that men report him right,

His tongue could whisper words of might.

Now another day is come,

Fitter hope, and nobler doom;

He hath thrown aside his crook,

And hath buried deep his book;

Armour rusting in his halls

On the blood of Clifford calls :

'Quell the Scot! ' exclaims the Lance;

'Bear me to the heart of France,'

Is the longing of the Shield;

Tell thy name, thou trembling field;

Field of death, where'er thou be,

Groan thou with our victory !

Happy day, and mighty hour,

When our Shepherd in his power,

Mailed and horsed, with lance and sword,

To his ancestors restored

Like a reappearing Star,

Like a glory from afar,

First shall head the flock of war!

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