By Uri’s lake. A father of the land,[230]
One on his brow the silent record wore
Of many days, whose shadows had pass’d o’er
His path among the hills, and quench’d the dreams
Of youth with sorrow. Yet from memory’s lore
Still his life’s evening drew its loveliest gleams,
For he had walk’d with God, beside the mountain streams.
XV.
And his gray hairs, in happier times, might well
To their last pillow silently have gone,