Earth's glory seems a tarnish'd crown to that which we behold,
When dreams enchant our sight with things whose meanest garb is gold!
Was it a dream?—methought the "dauntless Harold" passed me by—
The proud "Fitz-James," with martial step, and dark, intrepid eye;
That "Marmion's" haughty crest was there, a mourner for his sake;
And she, the bold, the beautiful, sweet "Lady of the Lake."
The "Minstrel," whose last lay was o'er, whose broken harp lay low,
And with him glorious "Waverley," with glance and step of wo;
And "Stuart's" voice rose there, as when, 'midst fate's disastrous war,
He led the wild, ambitious, proud, and brave "Ich Ian Vohr."