Page:Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands.djvu/35

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10
THE VISITANT.


Whate'er thou art, how sad thy fate;
    With wasted strength the goal to spy,
Cling feebly to the flapping sail,
    And at a stranger's feet to die.

For thee the widowed mate shall gaze
    From leafy chamber curtained fair;
And, wailing lays at evening's close,
    Lament thy loss in deep despair.

Even thus, o er life s unresting tide,
    Chilled by the billow's beating spray,
Some adventitious prize to gain,
    Ambition's votaries urge their way;

Some eyrie on the Alpine cliff,
    Some proud Mont-Blanc they fain would climb,
Snatch wreaths of laurel steeped in gore,
    Or win from Fame a strain sublime;

They lose of home the heartfelt joys,
    The charm of seasons as they roll,
And stake, amid their blinding course,
    The priceless birthright of the soul:

Years fleet, and still they struggle on,
    Their dim eye rolls with fading fire,
Perchance the long-sought treasure grasp,
    Taste the brief victory, and expire.