But go to the crowded mart, 'Mid the sordid haunts of men, Go there and ask thy heart, What answer makes it then? Go where the wine-cup's gleaming, In hall or festal grot; Where love-lit eyes are beaming, But Love himself is not!-- Go--if thou wouldst be lonely-- Where the phantom Pleasure's wooed, And own that there--there only-- 'Mid crowds is Solitude.
Where have the valiant sunk to rest, When their sands of life were numbered? On the downy couch? on the gentle breast Where their youthful visions slumbered?
When the mighty passed the gate of death, Did love stand by bewailing? No! but upon war's fiery breath Their blood-dyed flag was sailing!
Not on the silent feverish bed, With weeping friends around them, Were the parting prayers of the valiant said, When death's dark angel found them.
But in the stern and stormy strife, In the flush of lofty feeling, They yielded to honour the boon of life, Where battle's bolts were pealing;
When the hot war-steed, with crimsoned mane Trampled on breasts all stained and gory, Dashed his red hoof on the reeking plain, And shared in the rider's glory.
Or seek the brave in their ocean grave, 'Neath the dark and restless water; Seek them beneath the whelming wave, So oft deep dyed with slaughter.
There sleep the gallant and the proud, The eagle-eyed and the lion-hearted; For whom the trump of fame rang loud, When the body and soul were parted.
Or seek them on fields where the grass grows deep, Where the vulture and the raven hover; There the sons of battle in quiet sleep: And widowed love goes there to weep, That their bright career is over.
I come in the breath of the wakened breeze, I kiss the flowers, and I bend the trees; And I shake the dew, which hath fallen by night, From its throne, on the lily's pure bosom of white. Awake thee, when bright from my couch in the sky, I beam o'er the mountains, and come from on high; When my gay purple banners are waving afar; When my herald, gray dawn, hath extinguished each star; When I smile on the woodlands, and bend o'er the lake, Then awake thee, O maiden, I bid thee awake! Thou may'st slumber when all the wide arches of Heaven Glitter bright with the beautiful fires of even; When the moon walks in glory, and looks from on high, O'er the clouds floating far through the clear azure sky, Drifting on like the beautiful vessels of Heaven, To their far away harbour, all silently driven, Bearing on, in their bosoms, the children of light, Who have fled from this dark world of sorrow and night; When the lake lies in calmness and darkness, save where The bright ripple curls, 'neath the smile of a star; When all is in silence and solitude here, Then sleep, maiden, sleep! without sorrow or fear! But when I steal silently over the lake, Awake thee then, maiden, awake! Oh, awake!