“Thou’rt not where wild-flowers wave
O’er crag and sparry cave;
Thou’rt not where pines are sounding,
Or joyous torrents bounding—
Alas, my brother!
“Thou’rt not where green, on high,
The brighter pastures lie;
Ev’n those, thine own wild places,
Bear of our chain dark traces:
Alas, my brother!