The more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless;
And robed in fires of hell, or bright with heavenly shine,
If it but herald Death, the vision is divine.
123. Stanzas to [Branwell Brontë?]
Well, some may hate, and some may scorn,
And some may quite forget thy name;
But my sad heart must ever mourn
Thy ruined hopes, thy blighted fame!
’Twas thus I thought, an hour ago,
Even weeping o’er that wretch’s woe;