CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.

O hilly land, high-honoured land,

What wait we now, poor fugitive band?

Some dark, dark cave

Show me, within thy winding strand,

To hide and save!

Would I might vanish in smoke, ascending

To Heaven, with Jove’s light clouds dim-blending

In misty air,

Like wingless, viewless dust, and ending