|
SAY, who is he in deserts seen,
|
| Or at the twilight hour? |
| Of garb austere, and dauntless mien, |
| Measured in speech, in purpose keen, |
| Calm as in Heaven he had been, |
| Yet blithe when perils lower. |
My Holy Mother made reply, |
| "Dear child, it is my Priest. |
| The world has cast me forth, and I |
| Dwell with wild earth and gusty sky; |
| He bears to men my mandates high, |
| And works my sage behest. |
"Another day, dear child, and thou |
| Shalt join his sacred band. |
| Ah! well I deem, thou shrinkest now |
| From urgent rule, and severing vow; |
| Gay hopes flit round, and light thy brow: |
| Time hath a taming hand!" |
Oxford.
November 22, 1832 |