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For nothing visible, they say, had birth In that blest ground but it was play'd about With its peculiar glory.My voice and cried, 'Wide Afric, doth thy Sun Lighten, thy hills enfold a City as fair As those which starr'd the night o' the elder World?either monetarily or socially) from the use of my profile, video, pictures or audio in any form my profile is a violation of my privacy and subject to legal action.BY WATCHING THIS: You acknowledge and agree that you shall not post, upload, publish, transmit or make available in any way content of this page including images and recording streamed live video available for download.Upon the Mountain, on the dreams of old Which fill'd the Earth with passing loveliness, And odours rapt from remote Paradise?Thy sense is clogg'd with dull mortality, Thy spirit fetter'd with the bond of clay: Open thine eyes and see.' I felt my soul grow mighty, and my Spirit With supernatural excitation bound Within me, and my mental eye grew large With such a vast circumference of thought, That in my vanity I seem'd to stand Upon the outward verge and bound alone Of full beatitude.Or is the rumour of thy Timbuctoo A dream as frail as those of ancient Time?' Girt with a Zone of flashing gold beneath His breast, and compass'd round about his brow With triple arch of everchanging bows, And circled with the glory of living light And alternation of all hues, he stood.
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There were legends of a great civilization in what is now Mali. Tennyson's father urged him to enter, writing "You're doing nothing at the university; you might at least get the English poem prize." Tennyson reworked a poem which he had written at age 15 ("Armageddon") to meet the subject requirement.
Timbuctoo had been visited by a modern European for the first time in 1826, by the Scottish explorer, A. "Armageddon" includes a vision of the distant human future, in outer space, followed by a vision of a lifeless earth and a final impending battle of the good and evil spiritual powers.
And much I mus'd on legends quaint and old Which whilome won the hearts of all on Earth Toward their brightness, ev'n as flame draws air; But had their being in the heart of Man As air is th' life of flame: and thou wert then A center'd glory-circled Memory, Divinest Atalantis, whom the waves Have buried deep, and thou of later name Imperial Eldorado roof'd with gold; Shadows to which, despite all shocks of Change, All on-set of capricious Accident, Men clung with yearning Hope which would not die.
As when in some great City where the walls Shake, and the streets with ghastly faces throng'd Do utter forth a subterranean voice, Among the inner columns far retir'd At midnight, in the lone Acropolis, Before the awful Genius of the place Kneels the pale Priestess in deep faith, the while Above her head the weak lamp dips and winks Unto the fearful summoning without: Nathless she ever clasps the marble knees, Bathes the cold hand with tears, and gazeth on Those eyes which wear no light but that wherewith Her phantasy informs them. Where are your moonlight halls, your cedarn glooms, The blossoming abysses of your hills?