Page:The works of Alfred Lord Tennyson (1899, v 1).djvu/170

 Below was all mosaic choicely plann'd
 * With cycles of the human tale

Of this wide world, the times of every land
 * So wrought, they will not fail.

The people here, a beast of burden slow,
 * Toil'd onward, prick'd with goads and stings;

Here play'd, a tiger, rolling to and fro
 * The heads and crowns of kings;

Here rose, an athlete, strong to break or bind
 * All force in bonds that might endure,

And here once more like some sick man declined,
 * And trusted any cure.

But over these she trod: and those great bells
 * Began to chime. She took her throne:

She sat betwixt the shining Oriels,
 * To sing her songs alone.

And thro' the topmost Oriels' coloured flame
 * Two godlike faces gazed below;

Plato the wise, and large-brow'd Verulam,
 * The first of those who know.

And all those names, that in their motion were
 * Full-welling fountain-heads of change,

Betwixt the slender shafts were blazon'd fair
 * In diverse raiment strange:

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