Thou spak'st! That voice, methinks, is heard on high!
The buds and blooms in every amaranth wreath
By angels worn expand in ecstasy;
And in pure light a heavenlier fragrance breathe.
Hail, Land that gav'st her birth! Hail, precinct old!
Hail, ancient Race, the Lebanonian crown!
The Turk hath empire, and the Frank hath gold:
Virtue and Beauty, these are thy renown!
V.
Thou wentest: with thy going came my night: