To drum-beat and heart-beat,
A soldier marches by:
There is color in his cheek,
...
By the flow of the inland river,
Whence the fleets of iron have fled,
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
...
Floating away like the fountains' spray,
Or the snow-white plume of a maiden,
The smoke-wreaths rise to the starlit skies
...