Whose worthiest record is a nameless grave,
Whose truckling spirit bends and bids him kneel,
And fawn and vilely kiss a patron's heel--
Even _he_ can cast the cursed suspicious eye,
Inquire the _cause_ of _this_--the _reason why_?
And stab the sufferer. Then, the tenfold pain
To feel a gilded butterfly's disdain!--
A kicking ass, without an ass's sense,
Whose only virtue is, pounds, shillings, pence;
And now, while ills on ills beset him round,
The scorn of such the hopeless Edmund found.


XXII.

But hope returned, and on the wanderer's ear
Breathed its life-giving watchword, _Persevere_!
And torn by want, and struggling with despair,
These were his words, his fixed resolve and prayer,
"Hail perseverance, rectitude of heart,
Through life thy aid, thy conquering power impart;
Repulsed and broken, blasted, be thou ever
A portion of my spirit! Leave me never;
Firm, fixed in purpose, watchful, unsubdued,
Until my hand hath grasped the prize pursued."



CANTO SECOND.