Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/956

 MATTHEW ARNOLD

Lose all our present state, And relegate to worlds yet distant our repose?

Not much, I know, you prize What pleasures may be had, Who look on life with eyes Estranged, like mine, and sad: And yet the village churl feels the truth more than you ;

Who's loth to leave this life Which to him little yields: His hard-task'd sunburnt wife, His of ten-labour J d fields; The boors with whom he talk'd, the country spots he knew.

But thou, because thou hear'st Men scoff at Heaven and Fate; Because the gods thou fear'st Fail to make blest thy state, Tremblest, and wilt not dare to trust the joys there are.

I say, Fear not! life still Leaves human effort scope. But, since life teems with ill, Nurse no extravagant hope. Because thou must not dream, thou need'st not then despair.

��The Strayed Reveller to Ulysses

HE Gods are happy. They turn on all sides Their shining eyes: And see, below them, The Earth, and men.

�� �