Is sated with her vapid luxuries. The nations from afar, enamoured with The vision of her pomp, have bowed themselves In utter prostitution at her feet. But thou art fallen, art fallen! How hast thou padded round thy ghastly frame, Thy ships on sea; thy harnessed hosts on land; A great, grand past, strung o'er with proud exploits ; In the van of all the people-deeming intellect But idols which she worships in her heart. The pride of power, of pomp, and ancient fame, The glory of my presence, and all lands LORIOUS Rudyard; gorgeous picture, Ever fraught wtth sunny memories, Whether blushing Spring enwrap thee Whether drooping Autumn flood thee Whether storms sweep grandly o'er thee, Light or gloom their charms impart, Ever grand, sublime, majestic, Ever beautiful thou art. And I love to roam in twilight, Here to sit and gaze upon thee, How sublimely grand the picture Lies the lake in tranquil beauty, Like a flood of molten silver, Froth of gold and sapphire dipped, Flashing back the efflorescence Of the summer's blazing light. And away, far up the valley, Rising from the sunlit tide, Towering hills in stately grandeur, Turning, twisting, undulating, Sinking low or peaking high, Throwing up a jaggy outline, Quaintly cut against the sky. Bulging mounds and blocks of granite Rise in beauty all around, Lichen grown, and moss enamelled, Ivy wreathed, and bilberry crowned. Rugged cliffs of mouldering sandstone In whose fossil-bedded strata, Seeming placed to point this moral And above and all around me |