ample tide! But now at length the god appears to sink; A new - born impulse
wings my flight, Onward I press, his quenchless light to drink, The day before
me, and behind the night, The pathless waves beneath, and over me the skies.
Fair dream, it vanish'd with the parting day! Alas! that when on spirit - wing
we rise, No wing material lifts our mortal clay. But 'tis our inborn impulse,
deep and strong, Upwards and onwards still to urge our flight, When far
above us pours its thrilling song The sky - lark, lost in azure light, When on
extended wing amain O'er pine - crown'd height the eagle soars, And over