“The prayer of him whose holy tongue
      Had never yet exceeded truth! 
    Upon whose guardian care had hung
      The whole dependence of thy youth!

    “Who, noble, dauntless, frank and mild,
      Was, for his very goodness, fear’d;
    Belov’d with fondness like a child,
      And like a blessed saint rever’d!

    “I have known friends—­but who can feel
      The kindness such a father knew? 
    I serv’d him still with tender zeal,
      But knew not then how much was due!

    “And did not Providence ordain
      That we should soon be laid as low,
    No heart could such a stroke sustain,—­
      No reason could survive the blow!

    “After that fatal trial came,
    The world no longer was the same. 
    I still had pleasures:—­who could live
    Without the healing aid they give? 
    But, as a plant surcharg’d with rain,
    When radiant sunshine comes again,
    Just wakes from a benumbing trance,
    I caught a feverish, fitful glance. 
    The dove, that for a weary time
    Had mourn’d the rigour of the clime,
    And, with its head beneath its wing,
    Awaited a more genial spring,
    Went forth again to search around,
    And some few leaves of olive found,
    But not a bower which could impart
      Its interchange of light and shade;
    Not that soft down, to warm the heart,
      Of which her former nest was made. 
    Smooth were the waves, the ether clear,
    Yet all was desert, cold, and drear!

      “Affection, o’er thy clouded sky
    In flocks the birds of omen fly;
    And oft the wandering harpy, Care,
    Must thy delicious viands share: 
    But all the soul’s interior light,
    All that is soothing, sweet, and bright,
    All fragrance, softness, colour, glow,
    To thee, as to the sun, we owe!

      “Years past away! swift, varied years! 
    I learnt the luxury of tears;
    And all the orphan’s wretched lot,
    ’Midst those she pleas’d and serv’d, forgot.

    “By turns applauded and despis’d,
    Till one appear’d who duly priz’d;
    Bound round my heart a welcome chain,
    And earthward lur’d its hopes again;
    When, careless of all worldly weal,
    By Fancy only taught to feel,
    My raptur’d spirit soar’d on high,
    With momentary power to fly;
    Or sang its deep, indignant moan,
    With swells of anguish, when alone.

    “Yet lovely dreams could I evoke
      Of future happiness and fame—­
    I did not bow to kiss the yoke,
      But welcom’d every joy that came.

    “Often would self-complacence spread
    Harmonious halos round my head;
    And all my being own’d awhile
    The warm diffusion of her smile.

      “One morn they call’d me forth to sing
    Fore our then liege, the English king. 
    Thy guest, my Lord de Semonville,
    His gracious presence was the seal
    Of favour to a servant true,
    To boasted faith and fealty due!