Tearing their bleeding ties leaves Age to groan
  On his wet bed, abandon’d and alone. 
  For ever, fast as they of strength become
  To pay the filial debt, for food to roam, 615
  The father, forc’d by Powers that only deign
  That solitary Man disturb their reign,
  From his bare nest amid the storms of heaven
  Drives, eagle-like, his sons as he was driven,
  His last dread pleasure! watches to the plain—­ 620
  And never, eagle-like, beholds again.” [Z]

  When the poor heart has all its joys resign’d,
  Why does their sad remembrance cleave behind? 
  Lo! by the lazy Seine the exile roves,
  Or where thick sails illume Batavia’s groves; 625
  Soft o’er the waters mournful measures swell,
  Unlocking bleeding Thought’s “memorial cell”;
  At once upon his heart Despair has set
  Her seal, the mortal tear his cheek has wet;
  Strong poison not a form of steel can brave 630
  Bows his young hairs with sorrow to the grave. 
    Gay lark of hope thy silent song resume! 
  Fair smiling lights the purpled hills illume! 
  Soft gales and dews of life’s delicious morn,
  And thou, lost fragrance of the heart return! 635
  [Aa] Soon flies the little joy to man allow’d,
  And tears before him travel like a cloud. 
  For come Diseases on, and Penury’s rage,
  Labour, and Pain, and Grief, and joyless Age,
  And Conscience dogging close his bleeding way 640
  Cries out, and leads her Spectres to their prey,
  ’Till Hope-deserted, long in vain his breath
  Implores the dreadful untried sleep of Death. 
 —­Mid savage rocks and seas of snow that shine
  Between interminable tracts of pine, 645
  Round a lone fane the human Genii mourn,
  Where fierce the rays of woe collected burn. 
 —­From viewless lamps a ghastly dimness falls,
  And ebbs uncertain on the troubled walls,
  Dim dreadful faces thro’ the gloom appear, 650
  Abortive Joy, and Hope that works in fear,
  While strives a secret Power to hush the crowd,
  Pain’s wild rebellious burst proclaims her rights aloud. 
    Oh give not me that eye of hard disdain
  That views undimm’d Einsiedlen’s [Bb] wretched fane. 655
  Mid muttering prayers all sounds of torment meet,
  Dire clap of hands, distracted chafe of feet,
  While loud and dull ascends the weeping cry,
  Surely in other thoughts contempt may die. 
  If the sad grave of human ignorance bear 660
  One flower of hope—­Oh pass and leave it there.

 —­The tall Sun, tiptoe on an Alpine spire,
  Flings o’er the desert blood-red streams of fire. 
  At such an hour there are who love to stray,
  And meet the gladdening pilgrims on their way. 665