THE ORPHAN'S DREAM OF FAME.
151
As 'twere the voice of destiny. I won
The laurel crown, and with exulting heart
I felt its thrilling pressure on my brow:
But ah! a breath of poison from the crowd
Passed o'er its blooming leaves, and nought remained
But dust upon my temples. A bright name
Was my soul's idol, but a feeble blow
From hands unworthy, shattered and cast down
That wildly worshipped idol from its shrine,
For ever and for ever.
The laurel crown, and with exulting heart
I felt its thrilling pressure on my brow:
But ah! a breath of poison from the crowd
Passed o'er its blooming leaves, and nought remained
But dust upon my temples. A bright name
Was my soul's idol, but a feeble blow
From hands unworthy, shattered and cast down
That wildly worshipped idol from its shrine,
For ever and for ever.
Now, alas!
Joy, love, hope, pride, ambition, all are dead
Within my breast. I smile in bitterness,
To think with what a madness of the soul
I sought a worthless bauble. Like a gleam
Of moonlight from the mountain, or the flash
Of an expiring meteor from the deep,
Or the red glow of sunset from the west,
That dream of fame has vanished from my life,
And now I feel no pang of vain regret
That it has perished thus.
Joy, love, hope, pride, ambition, all are dead
Within my breast. I smile in bitterness,
To think with what a madness of the soul
I sought a worthless bauble. Like a gleam
Of moonlight from the mountain, or the flash
Of an expiring meteor from the deep,
Or the red glow of sunset from the west,
That dream of fame has vanished from my life,
And now I feel no pang of vain regret
That it has perished thus.
