XXXII

2 0 00

XXXII

Bard of the “Feasts,” and mournful breast,

If thou wert sitting by my side,

With this immoderate request

I should alarm our friendship tried:

In one of thine enchanting lays

To russify the foreign phrase

Of my impassioned heroine.

Where art thou? Come! pretensions mine

I yield with a low reverence;

But lonely beneath Finnish skies

Where melancholy rocks arise

He wanders in his indolence;

Careless of fame his spirit high

Hears not my importunity!