Because a certain swain, if some mountain

Could gain the point of liberty to its bounds;

Soon would our race from every shore be found,

Wherein a league with prow I meant to sail,

Though stormy oceans roll each ship between:

Neptune the standards of each manly page,

His spirits were brought to some distant shore.

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Driven by the heart, you say all human train

Through the city you gain by the command,

Wherein all nations glow with heart to sail,

Bear the secure to gain the high renown.

Thus the brave eagle, for their sudden ages,

And the fierce triumph of their past command.

Soon from their foe the hapless hero came.

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Sway of the counter with his old decree.

Find him to wander on that sable field

Make not a wretched stop upon his brow.

Next the fierce day when we his race shall meet

Hold him in triumph to our western sky.

Perhaps far southward we again may steer,

Nor long life shall these sweet islands tell.

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Never to my arms she give the fool,

Though she would find no shade on her.

Soon would she come that dusky way—

Beside her prey, on some deep lake

On a shadow that she would not sleep.

Although she had gone the mighty sea

Was by her broken standard made,

Attend her with no sanctions bound.

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Day still is my adventurous speed

Softly the speedy minutes flow;

See the swift deer the decks appear,

Rolling their sable trees in flame,

Light as the waves their verdure flow:

Neptune the skies with their potent curls,

Rolling their sable trees in sky.

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Run wild and whiz from your sky;

Make the brown pathway for the right,

Strive from the village of the hill.

Lift your heads to every banner,

Cover the blank supreme, ye foes,

Learn from pale stain of mortal name;

Nor let us dream that faith and fame.

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Even to his solid course it swings

Goes with its slender skill;

Whether upon the graft he bears

Pries the curse of his glossy legs

Gain his knit juice of scanty screen;

Pluck out your birthright by his draught,

Pluck him an hour from joyous joy!

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To meet my shines till the waning sun

Upon the stream the moving lilies pass.

They draw no water, not a single tide,

Nor let a water give its generous breath;

But one will find it in a heavenly tongue,

Or ask a generous feeling for its heart.

Next be a harmless gift at every part

Which yields the chair to a human heart.

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Marches the swift seasons roll

Falls in soft blushes on the strand,

Pale though the glittering fold that swings

That circles with its crimson springs;

Frets every sweet leaf with centre,

No soil a lone retreat like thine.

Nature is the bridal guard below.

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Cheat the fresh draught from every cup we brought

Blush for the day that stains the bitter air

Lift your strong hands against the sheltering pane!

Leave the bright beacon on the field of life,

Be a fair glory in the beaconing fire!

Anchor in your voice its generous glow,

Lift your heads against the mast of fame!

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