Men soon will cease to name their name,
Oblivion soon will quench their fame,
And the wild story of their fate,
Will yet be subject of debate,
'Twixt antiquarians sage and able,
Who doubt if it be truth or fable.
VIII.
I said I minded well the time,
When first beside yon stream I stood;
Then one interminable wood,
In its unbounded breadth sublime,
And in its loneliness profound,
Spread like a leafy sea around.
To one of foreign land and birth,
Nursed 'mid the loveliest scenes of earth,
But now from home and friends exiled,
Such wilderness were doubly wild;--
I thought it so, and scarce could I
My tears repress, when standing by
The river's brink, I thought of mine
Own native stream, the glorious Rhine!
For, near to it, with loving eye,
My mother watched my infancy;
Along its banks my childhood strayed,
With its strong waves my boyhood played.
And I could see, in memory, still
My father's cottage on the hill,
With green vines trailing round and o'er
Wall, roof and casement, porch and door:
Yet soon I learned yon stream to bless,
And love the wooded wilderness.
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