VI.

But onward flow’d life’s busy course again, And rolling ages with them bore away-- As to be lost amidst the boundless main, Rich orient streams their golden sands convey-- The hallow’d lore of old--the guiding light Left by tradition to the sons of earth, And the blest memory of each sacred rite Known in the region of their father’s birth, When in each breeze around his fair abode Whisper’d a seraph’s voice, or lived the breath of God.