DON QUIXOTE

What “blushing Hippocrene” is here! what fire

Of the “warm South” with magic of old Spain!—

Through which again I seem to view the train

Of all Cervantes’ dreams, his heart's desire:

The melancholy Knight, in gaunt attire

Of steel rides by upon the windmill-plain

With Sancho Panza by his side again,

While, heard afar, a swineherd from a byre

Winds a hoarse horn.

And all at once I see

The glory of that soul who rode upon

Impossible quests,— following a deathless dream

Of righted wrongs, that never were to be,—

Like many another champion who has gone

Questing a cause that perished like a dream.