Had his sunk eye kindled at those dear words 60
That spake of bards and minstrels; and his spirit
Had flown with mine to old Helvellyn’s brow,
Where once together, in his day of strength,
We stood rejoicing,[74] as if earth were free
From sorrow, like the sky above our heads. 65
Years followed years, and when, upon the eve
Of his last going from Tweed-side, thought turned,
Or by another’s sympathy was led,
To this bright land, Hope was for him no friend,