Tumbling, Mumbling upon the heaps,
my mind upon the scepter keeps,
a musty silence so obscure,
with a private love and a virgin cure.
In the past, I crossed these fields ,
with a roaring mob by my side.
But now I tread without a guide,
In a lonesome silence, I confide.
Let me shout the winning cry,
with the wind O! let me fly.
Let me use my silence dear,
to make my cry so red and clear.