In poesy was their impassioned source.
How wild soe’er the dreams born in that mind
By Vevay’s bank, they link thee with the few
Whose bright reward the laurel and the rue,
Emblem of suffering and of fame were twined
In the undying wreath—and must such be
The poet’s crown of immortality?
Change we the chords, and wake another strain;
Too high aspirings in my bosom swell,
As spirits hallowed each by the bright spell