There, as ye onward roam,
Fresh leaves would bend to greet your waters bright:—
Why scorn the charms that vainly court your sight,
Amid these wilds to foam?
Alas! our fate is one—
Both ruled by wayward fancy!—All in vain
I question both! My thoughts still spurn the chain—
Ye—heedless—thunder on!
THE SEA KINGS.
“They are rightly named Sea Kings,” says the author of the Inglingasaga, “who never seek shelter under a roof, and never drain their drinking horn at a cottage-fire.”