{61} But the human heart knows little change: 'Tis woman's to watch, 'tis man's to range For pleasure, wealth, or fame; And thou may'st look, from thy realms above, On many a sister's yearning love, The same--still, still the same. Ye students grave, of ancient lore, Grudge not my skilless rhyme, One tale (from tradition's ample store) Of Cambria's olden time; Seek, 'mid the hills and glens around, For names and deeds of war; And leave this little spot of ground, A record holier far.
THE GOLDEN GOBLET,
IN IMITATION OF GOTHE. There was a king in Mon, {62} A true lover to his grave; To whom in death his lady A golden goblet gave. When Christmas bowls were circling, And all was joy and cheer, He passed that goblet from him With a kiss and with a tear. When death he felt approaching, To all his barons bold, He left some fair dominion-- To none, that cup of gold. He sate at royal banquet, With all his lordly train, In the castle of his fathers, On the rock above the main. Upstood the tottering monarch, And drank the cup's last wine; Then flung the holy goblet, Deep, deep, into the brine.