ELYSIUM.
243
And dim remembrances, that still draw birth
From the bewildering music of the earth.
And who, with silent tread,
Moved o'er the plains of waving Asphodel?
Called from the dim procession of the Dead,
Who, midst the shadowy amaranth-bowers might dwell,
And listen to the swell
Of those majestic hymn-notes, and inhale
The spirit wandering in the immortal gale?
They of the sword, whose praise,
With the bright wine at nations' feasts, went round!
They of the lyre, whose unforgotten lays
Forth on the winds had sent their mighty sound,
And in all regions found
Their echoes midst the mountains!—and become
In man's deep heart as voices of his home!
