  (A few months after the Milton Ter-centenary.) I The crowd has passed away, Faded the feast, and most forget! Master, we come with lowly hearts to pay Our deeper debt. II High they upheld the wine, And royally, royally drank to thee! Loud were their plaudits. Now the lonely shrine Accepts our knee. III All dark and silent now! Master, thy few are faithful still, And nightly hear thy brooks that warbling flow By Siloa's hill. |
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