Their hearts to misery, till the time is o’er,
When it speaks low and kneels th’ oppressor’s throne before!
LXXIII.
He hath been loved. But who may trust the love
Of a degenerate race?—in other mould
Are cast the free and lofty hearts that prove
Their faith through fiery trials. Yet behold,
And call him not forsaken!—thoughts untold
Have lent his aspect calmness, and his tread
Moves firmly to the shrine. What pomps unfold