And loving eyes were turned away,
And even Hope was growing old,
And all my heart-flowers withered—aye,
I turned to thee, my firm old rock,
And learned, like thee, to bear the shock.
But now, I go—Old Rock, farewell!
And thou my tiny lake, adieu!
Proud Hope my wandering steps impel
O’er yonder mountain calm and blue.
When fame is won and withered too,