Or, mayhap, shepherd lads who blow

On slender pipes, a pastoral dance—

Ah, strong were they in weal and woe

Adown the lanes of Old Romance!

But now the vast years intervene,

The fountain long has ceased its flow,

And silence rules the lone demesne

That once held such a goodly show;

Yet time, at least, does this bestow

Nor leave the best to fleeting chance—

They live again in fancy’s glow

Adown the lanes of Old Romance.

ENVOY

Sweet, still for us some blossoms grow

From out that dim and dear expanse—

Come, take my hand and we shall go

Adown the lanes of Old Romance!

A Voice From the Far Away

I heard a voice from the far away

Softly say this to me—

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