Beneath these vines: you placed it in my hand
And made it mine,—but how the tale has sped
Since then, I know not, or can understand
From this fair ending only. Let me see
The intervening chapters, dark and bright,
In order, as you lived them.”
To which another makes reply in the words below, which so delicately and feelingly refer to his early love, his sorrow at the death of Mary, his first wife, and the brightness of the later affection. To one who has passed through the same trying experience, these lines are marvellously expressive:—
“What haps I met, what struggles, what success
Of fame, or gold, or place, concerns you less,
Dear friend, than how I lost that sorest load