My words are harmless, let me give them vent,
Nor in my bosom harbor discontent;
Things, and not persons, are my enemies.
And if I stay to pluck a flower, and paint
Its unpretending beauties to your eyes,
O, follow for awhile my restless vagaries.
XXV.
My brother left us soon. His heart was sad,
And all were sad around him. Who could say
What was before us? Hearts one moment clad