2. That sings thy dirge, and says—“Ascend,
“And answer make amid thy peers,
“(Since all things here must have an end,)
“Thou latest of the famine years!”
3. I join that voice. No joy have I
In all thy purple and thy gold;
Nor in that nine fold harmony
From forest on to forest rolled:
4. Nor in that stormy western fire,
Which burns on ocean’s gloomy bed,