Nay, all are blest who answer duty's call.
But—do I dream or wake? What ghosts are these?
Hush, throbbing heart! these are the sons of those.
IV
Oh! what could wake to life that first sweet flame
That warmed my heart when by the little bay
On blissful summer evenings I lay
Beneath our thorn-bush, waiting till she came
Who was to me far more than wealth or fame,
But yet for whom I wished all fair things mine,