One Refuge
When old convention's sad calamity
Shall, after weary days, our path permit
To issue—undeterr'd and free:
What then remains?
Forest and woodland world, the green,
Far-sparkling plains?
Or fair Romance to lead the lines of it
O'er azure seas serene?
O well for these, if they can take us where
The soul alone would be! Of old we trod,
With shackled limbs, a thousand ways of care;
What profits freedom till it ends in God?
Shall, after weary days, our path permit
To issue—undeterr'd and free:
What then remains?
Forest and woodland world, the green,
Far-sparkling plains?
Or fair Romance to lead the lines of it
O'er azure seas serene?
O well for these, if they can take us where
The soul alone would be! Of old we trod,
With shackled limbs, a thousand ways of care;
What profits freedom till it ends in God?
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