With sable lashes! I remember once
A face like this, ere sickness took away
Its freshness, in whose looks there also dwelt,
If one may speak it of a thing so young,
And not subdue our warm belief to say
The prophecy of all these qualities,
Refinement, gentleness, and mild resolve;
Fitted to stem the evil of this world,
And hold with patient intrepidity,
The shield of calm resistance to its power.
It seem'd as if no anger e'er could dwell
Within his bosom; no blind prejudice
Distract his judgment; and no folly call
For a reproof: as if Affection were
Too soon allied to Thought, and tempered so
His morning, that the ministry of Time,
The chast'ning trial of Remorse and Grief,
And of stern Disappointment, all were spar'd.




XXIV.

_On the Death of Herbert Southey: addressed to his Father_.

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Knowing the nature of thy grief,
Too deep, too recent for relief,