VI.
But Time’s stern wave hath roll’d along,
And now on Manhood’s waste I stand,
And mourn young Fancy’s faded throng
Of radiant hopes and visions bland;
Yet, kindling o’er my onward way,
The light of love divine I see,
And hear a voice which seems to say:
‘Pilgrim! in Heaven there’s rest for thee!’
May, 1832.