130
POEMS.
Yet hold, proud boy! we fear thee not!
We scorn thy arts of deathless might!
We can defy thee as thou stand'st
Unarmed to enter on the fight!
We scorn thy arts of deathless might!
We can defy thee as thou stand'st
Unarmed to enter on the fight!
We fly from thee unscathed at last,
Ne'er thus to plead for peace again.
Oh! thou wouldst be a beauteous thing,
Couldst thou but lose the power to pain!
Ne'er thus to plead for peace again.
Oh! thou wouldst be a beauteous thing,
Couldst thou but lose the power to pain!
And there are many happy hearts,
'Tis pity thou shouldst sadden yet;
Thou dost but give a passing joy,
That thy stern pangs they may forget.
'Tis pity thou shouldst sadden yet;
Thou dost but give a passing joy,
That thy stern pangs they may forget.
For all thy arts and all thy wiles
Seek but to train, as 'twere a flower,
Some spirit bright through long, long years,
To blight it in a single hour.
Seek but to train, as 'twere a flower,
Some spirit bright through long, long years,
To blight it in a single hour.
Then seek'st thou pity that thy fate
Hath doomed thee powerless to roam,
Never in guileless hearts again,
To find and to betray a home?
Hath doomed thee powerless to roam,
Never in guileless hearts again,
To find and to betray a home?
