“Farewell!—when thou comest again to thine own,
Thou wilt miss from our music its loveliest tone;
Mournfully true is the tale we tell—
Yet on, fiery dreamer! farewell, farewell!”
And a something of gloom on his spirit weigh’d
As he caught the last sounds of his native shade;
But he knew not, till may a bright spell broke,
How deep were the oracles Nature spoke!
THE BEINGS OF THE MIND.
“The beings of the mind are not of clay;