Detdiar sidj as efterluket wurden.
259
Nay, not Valhalla's honey'd cup so rare,
By souls of heroes quaffed,
Not old Olympian nectar might compare
With that divinest draught !
Cold as the ice-born flood from Northern steep,
Clearer than Indian wave,
Sweet as nepenthe drowning care in sleep,
A second life it gave.
O quickening fount! may thy bright currents roll
In everlasting flow,
And on the latest wanderer's fainting soul
A blessing like bestow !
Know, too, O mortal, thou whose rougher path
Lies through a world of sin.
Without, the deadly arrows of its wrath,
Its fever-fire within, —
