“Our brother, speak!” they all exclam’d “explain
Thy grief, thy suffering:”—­but they ask’d in vain: 
The friend told all he knew; and all was known,
Save the sad causes whence the ills had grown;
But, if obscure the cause, they all agreed
From rest and kindness must the cure proceed: 
And he was cured; for quiet, love, and care,
Strove with the gloom, and broke on the despair;
Yet slow their progress, and as vapours move
Dense and reluctant from the wintry grove;
All is confusion, till the morning light
Gives the dim scene obscurely to the sight;
More and yet more defined the trunks appear,
Till the wild prospect stands distinct and clear; —
So the dark mind of our young poet grew
Clear and sedate; the dreadful mist withdrew;
And he resembled that bleak wintry scene,
Sad, though unclouded; dismal, though serene. 
   At times he utter’d, “What a dream was mine! 
And what a prospect! glorious and divine! 
Oh! in that room, and on that night to see
Those looks, that sweetness beaming all on me;
That syren-flattery—­and to send me then,
Hope-raised and soften’d, to those heartless men;
That dark-brow’d stern Director, pleased to show
Knowledge of subjects I disdain’d to know;
Cold and controlling—­but ’tis gone—­’tis past;
I had my trial, and have peace at last.” 
   Now grew the youth resigned:  he bade adieu
To all that hope, to all that fancy drew;
His frame was languid, and the hectic heat
Flush’d on his pallid face, and countless beat
The quick’ning pulse, and faint the limbs that bore
The slender form that soon would breathe no more. 
   Then hope of holy kind the soul sustain’d,
And not a lingering thought of earth remain’d;
Now heaven had all, and he could smile at Love,
And the wild sallies of his youth reprove;
Then could he dwell upon the tempting days,
The proud aspiring thought, the partial praise;
Victorious now, his worldly views were closed,
And on the bed of death the youth reposed. 
   The father grieved—­but as the poet’s heart
Was all unfitted for his earthly part;
As, he conceived, some other haughty fair
Would, had he lived, have led him to despair;
As, with this fear, the silent grave shut out
All feverish hope, and all tormenting doubt;
While the strong faith the pious youth possess’d,
His hope enlivening gave his sorrows rest;
Soothed by these thoughts, he felt a mournful joy
For his aspiring and devoted boy. 
   Meantime the news through various channels spread,
The youth, once favour’d with such praise, was dead: 
“Emma,” the lady cried, “my words attend,
Your syren-smiles have kill’d your humble friend;
The hope you raised can now delude no more,
Nor charms, that once inspired, can now restore.” 
   Faint was the flush of anger and of shame,
That o’er the cheek of conscious beauty came: