LXIII.
She sank nigh dead with weariness and fear
Before the dwelling of her early youth,
Breathing forth saddest sighs which but to hear
Might melt the heart with tenderness and ruth.
She lay there like a bud which tempests drear
Nip in its spring time with remorseless tooth;
Ah! sure a father's heart will tender be,
Nor close its issues 'gainst her utterly.