Page:Songs, Legends, and Ballads.djvu/84

72  Now my path lies through the cities;
 * But they cannot drive away

My sweet dreams of little Golu
 * And the land of the Malay.

LEAR 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.