I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news; Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet, Told of a many thousand warlike French That were embattailed and ranked in Kent.

How long the sunlight and the sea Wove and re-wove this rippling gold To rhythms of eternity; And many a flashing thing grew old, Waiting this miracle to be; And painted marvels manifold, Still with his work unsatisfied, Eager each new effect to try, The solemn artist cast aside, Rainbow and shell and butterfly, As some stern blacksmith scatters wide The sparks that from his anvil fly.

Some at the sounding anvil glow; Some the swift-sliding shuttle throw; Some, studious of the wind and tide, From pole to pole our commerce guide: 40 Some (taught by industry) impart With hands and feet the works of art; While some, of genius more refined, With head and tongue assist mankind: Each, aiming at one common end, Proves to the whole a needful friend.