XIV. It might be months, or years, or days, I kept no count-I took no note, I had no hope my eyes to raise, And clear them of their dreary mote; At last men came to set me free, I ask'd not why, and reck'd not where, It was at length the same to me, I learn'd to love despair. And thus when they appear'd at last, And watch'd them in their sullen trade, 370 380 Had power to kill-yet, strange to tell! 390 SONNET. ROUSSEAU-Voltaire-our Gibbon-and de Staël But they have made them lovelier, for the lore Where dwelt the wise and wondrous; but by thee The wild glow of that not ungentle zeal, Is proud, and makes the breath of glory real! STANZAS TO I. THOUGH the day of my destiny's over, The faults which so many could find; Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted, It shrunk not to share it with me, And the love which my spirit hath painted It never hath found but in thee. II. Then when nature around me is smiling The last smile which answers to mine, I do not believe it beguiling Because it reminds me of thine; And when winds are at war with the ocean, It is that they bear me from thee. III. Though the rock of my last hope is shiver'd, There is many a pang to pursue me: They may crush, but they shall not contemnThey may torture, but shall not subdue me"Tis of thee that I think-not of them. IV. Though human, thou didst not deceive me, Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me, Though slander'd, thou never could'st shake,Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me, Though parted, it was not to fly, |