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ATLANTIS.
59
"My bride," he sang, "the golden land be ours!Aflush with fruit its vines shall sunward climb: Herein shall swift hands build our glittering towers,Where bards shall chant their heaven-taught lore sublime;Nor hand along the wall nor scripture threat of Time.
III."While blissful cycles rise and disappear, Shall vaunting Death the beauteous realm forego:Its stars shall shine though fleet year follow year, Through bounteous vales its crystal rivers flow. On all its dazzling mountain-peaks of snowShall blaze the beacons of celestial day; From verge to verge their sun-lit fires shall glow,Pierce the dun mists and burn the shades away:Therewith shall field and flood themselves in light array."
