I watch the brown fields far below,
And the headlands, gray and hoary.
I see the beetling Palisades,
Whose wrinkled brows forever,
In calms and storms, in lights and shades,
Keep watch along the river.
Such watch, of old, the Magi kept
Along the sad Euphrates,—
Our eyeless ones have never slept,
And this their solemn fate is: