And fails me now, I fear, before the grave.
And yet, how that wild dream, tempting and bright,
Has spanned my youthful life, as does the bow
The summer storm! And now, e’en while I gaze.
And feel the mortal passing slowly off,
How dust still clings to dust, and a desire
Burns at my breast, that justice may be done
My memory!—that he, in after time—
(Poor child, how little recks he of this scene!—)
May speak his father’s name with love and pride.