And spreads[366] in steadfast peace her brooding wing.
Words cannot paint the o'ershadowing yew-tree bough,
And dimly-gleaming Nest,—a hollow crown
Of golden leaves inlaid with silver down,
Fine as the mother's softest plumes allow:[367]
I gazed—and, self-accused while gazing, sighed
For human-kind, weak slaves of cumbrous pride![368]
VARIANTS:
[363] 1819.