That on its simplest pages thou wilt look
With a benign indulgence more than just. 20
Nor wilt thou blame an aged Poet’s prayer,
That issuing hence may steal into thy mind
Some solace under weight of royal care,
Or grief—the inheritance of humankind.
For know we not that from celestial spheres, 25
When Time was young, an inspiration came
(Oh, were it mine!) to hallow saddest tears,
And help life onward in its noblest aim.