Or beyond the spreading oceans, in some distant Paynim land,
Swifter than the fiery simoom sweep across the plains of sand,
On a fleet and naked barb, and wield a keenly flashing brand.
O for days of careless gladness, days that evermore are gone,
When the spirit-thrilling summons of the silver bugle-horn
Roused the green-clad host of merry men at break of dewy morn.
—Cease thy prating, foolish Fancy, Fancy wayward, unconfined,
List the mighty music rushing on the pinions of the wind,
’Tis the onward tread of nations, ’tis the endless march of mind.
Bowdoin College.