Sleeping in its ash-dry lair,
The dragon dreams of yesteryear,
When it's wake was paved with fear,
Of how in those far-off days,
It inspired the doleful lays,
Of bards forgotten,
---- every one.
Will it wake upon the morrow?
Or hence of years a myriad?
Shall we hear its thunder-bellow?
Or will it sound when man's long dead?