 | Songs of the Seasons |  |
Plant my standard, rich with blazon,
Tissued by no niggard churl,
Where the tempest may unfurl
Signals for the eye to gaze on!
Plant it on a Norland Peak,
Over which the symbol resteth
In whose clefts the eagle nesteth,
Cruel eye o'er crueler beak!
On a hundred such, let float
My web of glory. Serfs impassive
Wait me on the mountains massive,
Eager to take turn about
In the pageant and the shout.
Trumpets blown by able lungs
Animate my sober paces;
Echo, heedless of the graces,
Heeding more the stately muses,
The enchantment of her tongues
In the extasy unlooses.
Tissued by no niggard churl,
13
Signals for the eye to gaze on!
Plant it on a Norland Peak,
Over which the symbol resteth
In whose clefts the eagle nesteth,
Cruel eye o'er crueler beak!
On a hundred such, let float
My web of glory. Serfs impassive
Wait me on the mountains massive,
Eager to take turn about
In the pageant and the shout.
Trumpets blown by able lungs
Animate my sober paces;
Echo, heedless of the graces,
Heeding more the stately muses,
The enchantment of her tongues
In the extasy unlooses.
| Songs of the Seasons | |