« ZurückWeiter »
Neither checked by the rich nor the needy they roam ;
Old Man! whom so oft I with pity have eyed,
A whirl-blast from behind the hill
Rushed o'er the wood with startling sound :
Along the floor, beneath the shade
Oh! grant me Heaven a heart at ease,
Though the torrents from their fountains
Though almost with eagle pinion
Yet he has some small dominion
Which, no doubt, he calls his home.
If on windy days the Raven
Not the less he loves his haven
On the bosom of the cliff.