And traced each scene that, midst the wrecks of time,
The print of Glory’s parting step retains;
Nor for awhile, in high-wrought dreams, forgot,
Musing on years gone by in brightness there,
The hopes, the fears, the sorrows of his lot,
The hues his fate hath worn, or yet may wear;
As when, from mountain-heights, his ardent eye
Of sea and heaven hath track’d the blue infinity?
II.
Is there who views with cold unalter’d mien,