And these,—to a later period of life, when the gloom that darkened his latter days was appearing:—
“I traced with him the narrow winding path
Which he pursued when upland was his way,
And then I wondered what stern hand of wrath
Had smitten him that wont to be so gay.
“Then would he tell me of a woeful weight—
A weight laid on him by a bishop’s hand,
That late and early, early still and late,
He could not bear, and yet could not withstand.”
These must serve as a specimen of Hartley Coleridge's dozen stanzas. Mr Ball’s are remarkable only as containing the following tolerable Irishism:—