II. Он! my dear mother, art thou still awake? 1845. III. HAST thou not seen an aged rifted tower, Yet, to the last, a rugged wrinkled thing To which young sweetness may delight to cling! IV. LET me not deem that I was made in vain, To its own leaf or blade, not idly spent 'Mid myriad dimples on the shipless main. For which the violet cared not while it stay'd, Proved that the sun was shining by its shade: Then can a drop of the eternal spring, Shadow of living lights, in vain be made? V. PAINS I have known, that cannot be again, VI. WHY should I murmur at my lot forlorn? All, and much more than is, or has been borne To brave the penance that my And yet my helpless state I deeply mourn. Well could I bear to be deserted quite; Less should I blame my fortune were it worse: But taking all, it yet hath left me friends, For whom I needs must mourn the wayward spite That hides my purpose in an empty purse; Since what I grateful wish, in wishing ends. |