Visions of blood, in that dying hour,
To his stormy soul were given—
Feasts, and victorious battle-fields,
Were the Norseman’s dreams of Heaven.
The Greek had high, ambitious dreams,
Of Elysium’s fabled clime;
The Druid too—ah, many and strange,
Were the dreams of olden time.
How will those dreams accord with thee,
When time exists no more,