Within them? Oft they fear’d that he would die
A victim to that slow, sure malady—
The fever of the mind. Their only son—
Their gifted son he was; yet silently
They saw disease at work; that work begun,
How surely speeds it on, until at length—’tis done!
XIII.
How often is the meed of fame obtain’d
At vast expense; by blood, and groans, and tears!
But he who immortality has gain’d