That rack the noble soul.
On! on! Creation’s secrets probe,
Then drink thy cup of scorn,
And wrapped in Cæsar’s robe,
Sleep like that master of the globe,
All glorious,—yet forlorn.
THE ALPINE FLOWERS.
eek dwellers mid yon terror stricken cliffs!
That rack the noble soul.
On! on! Creation’s secrets probe,
Then drink thy cup of scorn,
And wrapped in Cæsar’s robe,
Sleep like that master of the globe,
All glorious,—yet forlorn.
THE ALPINE FLOWERS.
eek dwellers mid yon terror stricken cliffs!