Rather than drag their weary lives out there.
Thro' starless nights the untold hours wear on,
All awful phantom shapes affright the wood—
And morning light but brings th' unwinking sun,
To torture with its glare their solitude.
In those grim wilds no sweet-voiced bird will sing,
No flowers will bloom within those trackless lands,
Nor is there trace of any living thing,
Save those gaunt giants, holding up their hands.
And when they fall, still round the unknown spot