Grandsires too were there,
Sitting contented under their own vines
And fig-trees, while about them merrily played
Their children's children like the sportive lambs
That frolicked on the foot-hills. Low of kine,
Full-uddered, homeward-wending from the meads,
Fell on the ear as soft as Hulder's loor
Tuned on the Norse-land mountains. Like a nest
Hid in a hawthorn-hedge a cottage stood
Embowered with vines beneath broad-branching elms
Sweet-voiced with busy bees.
[Illustration: PAUL'S DREAM]
"On either hand
Rose steep and barren mountains--mighty cliffs
Cragged and chasm'd and over-grown with thorns;
And on the topmost peak a golden throne
Blazoned with burning characters that read--
'Climb'--it is yours.' Not far above the vale
I saw a youth, fair-browed and raven-haired,
Clambering among the thorns and ragged rocks;
And from his brow with torn and bleeding hand
He wiped great drops of sweat. Down through the vale
I saw a rapid river, broad and deep,
Winding in solemn silence to the sea--
The sea all mist and fog. Lo as I stood
Viewing the river and the moaning sea,
A sail--and then another--flitted down
And plunged into the mist.
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