Is the loneliest road I know of, and I’ve traveled not a few;
Those hills on the left[72] so barren, and yon[73] towering, rocky ridge,
Look down on a sluggish river that is spanned by a moss-grown bridge—
And nigh to the bridge like a sentry, a tall, gray chimney stands,
’Mid the wreck that time has buried ’neath the tangled weeds and sands.
In this valley three ruins moulder that were once three happy homes,
And where once fond voices mingled, now the sly fox fearless roams;
Then these locks[74] were thick and glossy, that are now so sparse and gray;
Then I’d clamber these rocks as willing by night as I would by day—
But, if a royal scepter, if the world[75] were promised mine