Give me to die unwitting of the day, And stricken in Life's brave heat, with senses clear! - Edmund Clarence Stedman

In the lap of hoary Europe lie her children ill at rest, Reaching hands of supplication to their brethren of the West; Pale about the lifeless fountain of their ancient freedom, wait Till the angel move its waters and avenge their stricken state. Let me then, a new crusader, to the eastward set my face, Wake the fires of old tradition on each sacred altar-place, Till a trodden people rouse them, with a clamor as divine As the winds of autumn roaring through the clumps of forest-pine. I myself would seize their banner; they should follow where it led, To the triumph of the victors or the pallor of the dead.

What if there be a fated day When the Faery Isle shall pass away, And its beautiful groves and fountains seem The myths of a long, delicious dream! A century's joys shall first repay Our hearts, for the evil of that day; And the Elfin-King has sworn to wed A daughter of Earth, whose child shall be, By cross and water hallowe'd, From the fairies' doom forever free. What if there be a fated day! It is far away! it is far away! Maiden, fair Maiden, I, who sing Of this summer isle am the island King.

Let the winds blow! a fiercer gale Is wild within me! what may quell That sullen tempest? I must sail Whither, O whither, who can tell!