LXIII
O hinder me by no delay!
My horse is weary of the way,
And still his breast must stem the tide
Whose waves are foaming far and wide.
Leagues off I heard their thundering roar,
As fast they burst upon the shore;
A stronger steed than mine might dread
To brave them in their boiling bed.
Thus spoke the traveller, but in vain;
The stranger would not turn away,
Still clung she to his bridle rein
And still entreated him to stay.
Here with my knee upon the stone
I bid adieu to feelings gone;
I leave with thee my tears and pain,
And rush into the world again.
O come again! what chains withhold
The steps that used so fleet to be?
Come, leave thy dwelling dark and cold,
Once more to visit me.
Was it with the fields of green,
Blowing flower and budding tree,
With the summer heaven serene,
That thou didst visit me?
