Through the bright battle-clime,
Where laurel boughs make dim the Grecian streams,
And reeds are whispering of heroic themes,
By temples of old time:
Through the north’s ancient halls,
Where banners thrill’d of yore—where harp-strings rung;
But grass waves now o’er those that fought and sung,
Hearth-light hath left their walls!
Through forests old and dim,
Where o’er the leaves dread magic seems to brood;