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Let these bring thy answer, and tell me if sadness For ever man's penance and portion must be; Doth the morning come forth from a birthplace of gladness? Is there peace, is there rest, in thine empire or thee?

Spirit of fate, from yon troubled west leaning, As its meteor-piled rack were thy home and thy shrine, Grief is our knowledge, 'twill teach me thy meaning, Although thou but speak'st it in silence and sign.

I mark'd a soft arch sweep its way over heaven; It spann'd as it ruled the fierce storm which it bound;