Been searched and labelled. Nature, once so coy,
Has yielded to her noble ravisher,
And I, Barparlo, in whose pulses run
The golden blood of fearless ancestors,
Will—must—bespeak this rustic sage, or die!
But now the old man sudden turned, and so
He spied me, and with scoop’d hand to his ear
Attentive listened, glow’ring as I spoke.
“Oh, age! Conglomerate youth! For such is age,
If age be age amid the ages! For