Explore "The Pilgrims of the Rhine" by Edward Bulwer-lytton on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Hence is that secret pardon we bestow / In the true instinct of the grateful heart, / Upon the Sons of Song. The good they do / In the clear world of their Uranian art / Endures forever; while the evil done / In the poor drama of their mortal scene, / Is but a passing cloud before the sun; / Space hath no record where the mist hath been.
Boots it to us if Shakspeare erred like man? / Why idly question that most mystic life? / Eno' the giver in his gifts to scan; / To bless the sheaves with which thy fields are rife, / Nor, blundering, guess through what obstructive clay / The glorious corn-seed struggled up to day.