A RAMBLE WITH FANCY.
Once upon a quiet even,While the ling'ring hues of sunsetO'er the earth were resting lightly,I sat musing in the twilight. Soon I saw a form approaching,And her step was light and graceful.Quickly as I looked upon her,Knew I that her name was Fancy;For so oft with her I've wandered'Mong the grottos, hills, and valleysOf the sweet and mystic Song-Land,That her face hath grown familiar. But this being claims no kindredWith that train of idle fanciesThat so often haunt the spiritLiving only for the present,Never soaring from the earth-mistsAnd the shadows that surround it,Filled with high and noble longingsFor some good yet unaccomplished. And I said to this fair being,
(14)
