But fancy still painted that wide-flowing stream,
With the many-hued pencil of infancy's dream.
"I saw the green banks of the castle-crowned Rhine,
Where the grapes drink the moonlight and change into wine,
I stood by the Avon, whose waves, as they glide,
Still whisper his glory who sleeps by their side.
"But my heart would still yearn for the sound of the waves,
That sing as they flow by my forefathers' graves;
If manhood yet honors my cheek with a tear,
I care not who sees it—nor blush for it here.