Of which a few worn links remain,
To tell me that at fate’s command,
While years on years are rolling by,
They, too, must strew life’s desert strand,
Like leaves when Autumn’s blast is nigh.
Where azure hills o’erlook the seas,
I sit me down and feel the breeze
Fresh from the billows, wild and nigh,
Borne through a bright and boundless sky,
And musing gaze the landscape o’er