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( ix )
TO
FR. J. SCHEDEL.
I follow in thy footsteps, yet afar;
Thou bear'st the voice―I but the echoes hear,
Of the time-consecrated Magyār;
And while they vibrate in my spirit, bear
The music, ere it dies upon the ear,
To the old halls of England—where here are
Spirits of love, of sympathy sincere,
To welcome, as from some new-beaming star,
All I can bring of beauty, light and song.
Say to Hungaria, she shall stand among
The lands which Poetry with glory girds;
And if not mine, some happier lot 'twill be
To fling the wreath of fame o'er ber and thee,
With sweeter harmony and loftier words.
