All perish for us now,—yet on far shores,
Perchance by yon blue bay or rolling deep,
Far from white brethren, mid barbarian powers,
Your father’s hands another glade may form,—
Another roof to shield you from the storm.”
LIII.
As here he ceased, in all the agony
Of mental pain he paced the cottage floor;
Absorbed in his own woes scarce did he see