Mischance stood by, and watched, and at an hour
When least I thought her near, with hasty hand
All my fair pictured hopes at once defaced.
The lines which follow are much too beautiful to require any apology for insertion.
The traveller thus when louring skies impend,
In sorrowing silence leaning on his staff,
From some ascent his weary steps have gained,
Breathless looks back, and pausing, wonders well
The lengthened landscape past: now hid he finds
Mid far off mists and thick surrounding showers