He sat him down and buried up his face.
With agony oppressed, his very heart
Was shrunk and withered, e’en as when a bird
Whose little life has been a holyday,
Is overwhelmed as summer clouds have wept.
Why thus did shadows press upon his soul,
And with their awful wings fright hopes away?
Why thus disturbed? Fame in his way had strewn
With reckless hand, her fairest, proudest gifts—
Had taught his name to echo far amid