A pleasant music floats along the Mere,
From Monks in Ely chanting service high,
While-as Canute the King is rowing by:
“My Oarsmen,” quoth the mighty King, “draw near,
“That we the sweet song of the Monks may hear! "
He listens ( all past conquests and all schemes
Of future vanishing like empty dreams )
Heart-touched, and haply not without a tear.
The Royal Minstrel, ere the choir is still,
While his free Barge skims the smooth flood along,
Gives to that rapture an accordant Rhyme.
O suffering Earth! be thankful; sternest clime
And rudest age are subject to the thrill
Of heaven-descended Piety and Song.