Of mournful interest, how thy stately kind
Have perish’d from the places of their glory?
Or are ye talking of the noble race
Stately as thou, with the wind’s freedom roaming;
Who o’er these mountains once pursued the chace,
Or stem’d the river at its spring tide foaming?
Oh knew I all the legends of the past!
With life and love, and death and sorrow teeming,
On which thou hast looked down, since first the blast
Play’d with thy plumes, in morning sunlight gleaming.