72
SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS.
Now my path lies through the cities;
But they cannot drive away
My sweet dreams of little Golu
And the land of the Malay.
UNDER THE RIVER
CLEAR and bright, from the snowy height,
The joyous stream to the plain descended:
Rich sands of gold were washed and rolled
To the turbid marsh where its pure life ended.
From stainless snow to the moor below
The heart like the brook has a waning mission:
The buried dream in life's sluggish stream
Is the golden sand of our young ambition.
