"Behold me young, and behold me weak;
If you but crush me, the joy you seek
Shall quench desire on a rose-strewn bed,
"Yet oh! I pray you another hour,
For should you enter this Holy place,
My soul is given again to space,
And I must die as a blighted flower."
Then all the sorrow and all the shame,
That life had taught him to understand,
Rose up, and fettered the Pilgrim's hand,