Alas! for our ancient believings, We have nothing now left to believe; The oracle, augur, and omen No longer dismay and deceive. All hush'd are the oaks of Dodona; No more on the winds of the north, As it sways to and fro the huge branches, The voice of the future comes forth. No more o'er the flow'r-wreathed victim The priest at the red altar bends; No more on the flight of the vulture The dark hour of vict'ry depends. The stars have forgotten their science, Or we have forgotten its lore; In the rulers, the bright ones of midnight, We question of fortune no more. O folly! to deem that far planets Recorded the hour of our birth; Too glorious they are, and too lovely, For the wo and the weakness of earth. Now the science of fate is grown lowly, We question of gipsies and cards; 'Tis a question how much of the actual The fate of the vot'ry rewards. 'Tis the same in all ages; the future Still seems to the spirit its home; We are weary and worn with the present, But happiness still is to come. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COUNTER-ATTACK by SIEGFRIED SASSOON AUTUMN AND SPRING by JULIA COOLEY ALTROCCHI THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 1. AIR by JOHN ARMSTRONG TO A FLOWER by CORRINNE M. ARTHUR TRANSITION by MIRIAM BARRANGER |