Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/231

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Sing, sing for him, the lord of song, for him, whose rushing strain In mastery o'er the spirit sweeps, like a strong wind o'er the main! Whose voice lives deep in burning hearts, for ever there to dwell, As full-toned oracles are shrined in a temple's holiest cell.

The sun, the sun of Italy is pouring o'er his way, Where the old three hundred triumphs moved, a flood of golden day; Streaming through every haughty arch of the Cæsars’ past renown— Bring forth, in that exulting light, the conqueror for his crown!