“Half of thy heart we consecrate[49]
“(The web is wove. The work is done.”)
“Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn
“Leave me unbless’d, unpitied, here to mourn:
“In yon bright track, that fires the western skies,
“They melt, they vanish from my eyes.
“But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon’s height
“Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll?
“Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
“Ye unborn Ages, crowd not on my soul!