Where our frail bridge had quiver’d midst the storm.[307]
But there the war-notes of my country rung,
And, smitten deep of heaven and man, I fled
To hide in shades unpierced a mark’d and weary head.
LXIX.
But he went on in gladness—that fair child!
Save when at times his bright eye seem’d to dream,
And his young lips, which then no longer smiled,
Ask’d of his mother! That was but a gleam
Of memory, fleeting fast; and then his play