O'er the level plains, where mountains greet me as I go, O'er the desert waste, where fountains at my bidding flow, On the boundless beam by day, on the cloud by night, I am riding hence away! Who will chain my flight? War his weary watch was keeping;—I have crushed his spear: Grief within her bower was weeping;—I have dried her tear: Pleasure caught a minute's hold;—then I hurried by, Leaving all her banquet cold, and her goblet dry. Power had won a throne of glory;—where is now his fame? Genius said,—"I live in story";—who hath heard his name? Love, beneath a myrtle bough, whispered,—"Why so fast?" And the roses on his brow withered as I past. I have heard the heifer lowing o'er the wild wave's bed; I have seen the billow flowing where the cattle fed; Where began my wanderings?—Memory will not say! Where will rest my weary wings?—Science turns away! |