And bows my hopeless spirit down;
In vain I woo the poets’ art,—
The laurel wreath I ne’er shall own!
Sonnet to Elfrida.
Immortal being, whose career of time
Hath just begun, with holy hope we bring
Thee to the Temple of our Heavenly King,
To ask his gracious blessing in the prime
Of life’s fair infancy, ere earthly crime
Hath cast its stains upon thee; and whilst now