That fatal word, howe’er we hide the smart, 385
So deeply graven on the human heart;
That cull each bud! joy’s sparkling goblet fill
In vain! for there we read the legend still.
’Twas thine who, as the child in stature grew,
Held truth’s clear mirror to my dazzled view; 390
Warned me of fancy’s too prevailing sway,
Whispered how evanescent youth’s bright day!
And told me that the scene I deemed so fair,
Had many a thorn of trial lurking there.