My head, and said in anguish,—"Oh my God!—
—What is the beauty and the strength of man,
His fairest promise, and his proudest powers
Without thine aid?—So keep us from the sins
Which in us lurk, that we at last may rise
Where is no hurtful impulse, erring choice,
Or dark temptation working baleful deeds
For penitence to purge,—but Virtue dwells
Fast by her Sire,—and finds a deathless joy."
THE OLD MAN.
Why gaze ye on my hoary hairs,
Ye children, young and gay?
Your locks, beneath the blast of cares,
Will bleach as white as they.
I had a mother once, like you,
Who o'er my pillow hung,
Kiss'd from my cheek the briny dew,
And taught my faltering tongue.
She, when the nightly couch was spread,
Would bow my infant knee,
And place her hand upon my head,
And kneeling, pray for me.
But then, there came a fearful day,
I sought my mother's bed,
Till harsh hands bore me thence away,
And told me she was dead.
