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Poem	Oft have we trod the vales of Castaly And heard sweet notes of sylvan music blown From antique reeds to common folk unknown: And often launched our bark upon that sea Which the nine Muses hold in empery, And ploughed free furrows through the wave and foam, Nor spread reluctant sail for more safe home Till we had freighted well our argosy. Of which despoiled treasures these remain, Sordello's passion, and the honeyed line Of young Endymion, lordly Tamburlaine Driving his pampered jades, and more than these, The seven-fold vision of the Florentine, And grave-browed Milton's solemn harmonies.
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