Sit ever burning in his hateful bones.”
He also wrote some musically simple stanzas, of which I quote the first two, the rather that Thackeray was fond of them:—
“My golden locks Time hath to silver turned
(O Time too swift, and swiftness never ceasing),
My youth ’gainst age, and age at youth hath spurned,
But spurned in vain; youth waneth by increasing.
Beauty, strength, and youth, flowers fading been;
Duty, faith, and love, are roots, and ever green.
“My helmet now shall make an hive for bees,
And lover’s songs shall turn to holy psalms;