Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1836.pdf/17

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! for our ancient believings, We have nothing now left to believe; The oracle, augur, and omen No longer dismay and deceive.

All hush’d are the oaks of Dodona; No more on the winds of the north, As it sways to and fro the huge branches, The voice of the future comes forth.

No more o’er the flow'r-wreathed victim The priest at the red altar bends: No more on the flight of the vulture The dark hour of vict'ry depends.

The stars have forgotten their science, Or we have forgotten its lore; In the rulers, the bright ones of midnight, We question of fortune no more.

O folly! to deem that far planets Recorded the hour of our birth; Too glorious they are, and too lovely, For the wo and the weakness of earth.

Now the science of fate is grown lowly, We question of gipsies and cards; ’Tis a question how much of the actual The fate of the vot'ry rewards.

’Tis the same in all ages; the future Still seems to the spirit its home; We are weary and worn with the present. But happiness still is to come.