Low-laughing 'neath her vine-wrought anadem
She sang, “Thy name I graved upon the pine!
“The slenderer hand the stronger bark subdued—
Say, is it lordlier, bound and tamed to lead
The forest-monarch from his sunburnt wood,
Or snare some little bird that took no heed?”
We sang in valleys where the spring flowers sprang
To passionate life: the eagle o'er us sailed:
Down plunged the torrents, and the gray cliffs rang:
We clashed our songs in war; but hers prevailed.