XXIII.
Prostrate on earth the lofty column lies,
That late sustained my life; oh how much joy,
How many hopes did one dark day destroy!
And on the wind each blest idea flies.
How sure to fail is Fancy, when she tries
To build aught durable for me! fresh woes
Come with the force of persecuting foes,
And like abandoned things my hopes chastise:
Oft times I yield, yet oft my tyrants face,
With a new fury that might break in twain
A mountain placed to bar my way—impell'd
By the desire some day to turn again—
Turn to behold her loveliness and grace,
Whom it were better ne'er to have beheld.
XXIV. FROM AUSIAS MARCH.[AS]
Love! I have dressed myself in robes of white,
Shaped by thy scissors; as I put them on,
I find them loose and easy, but anon
They grow uneasy, cumbersome, and tight.
After consenting with a child's delight
To wear them, such repentance has possessed
My soul, that oft, by pure impatience pressed,
I try to tear them off in thy despite.
But who can free himself from such a suit,
When his thwart nature has become thereto
Conformed? if of my reason any part
Remains unparalyzed, it has not heart
To abet my cause, for in this stern dispute
Of circumstance, it knows it would not do.