O! lady, look from out thy bower O'er all this smiling land, Where thousands own a noble's power And answer his command. A hundred steeds are in his stalls, His ships are on the sea, While wealth adorns his lordly halls— A mighty man is he. Now send thy thought, like yonder bird, Far o'er the distant wave, Where'er the songs of love are heard Among the good and brave; O'er all the world thy thought may roam My songs shall echo free, And battlefield, and quiet home A welcome have for me. The noble may have wealth and pride, A high and titled name, But what are all he has beside A Poet's living fame? His might is bounded by those hills, Mine like the ocean rolls, A thousand hands work when he wills, I sway ten thousand souls! A faithful heart in him may live, And all its love be thine, But O! the Poet's heart can give A passion more divine. His love will fade away with years, And end with death at last, But mine will live in smiles and tears When centuries have pass'd. |