"The land of Song within thee lies, The lids of Fancy's sleepless eyes Holy thoughts, like stars, arise, "Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be, Not mountains capped with snow, Nor forests sounding like the sea, Nor rivers flowing ceaselessly, Where the woodlands bend to see "There is a forest where the din Of iron branches sounds ! A mighty river roars between, Sees the heavens all black with sin, Sees not its depths, nor bounds. 'Athwart the swinging branches cast, Soft rays of sunshine pour; Then comes the fearful wintry blast; Our hopes, like withered leaves, fall fast; Pallid lips say, 'It is past! We can return no more! "Look, then, into thine heart, and write ! Be these henceforth thy theme.' - |