their burden."

* * * * *

And yet how dear the transient joys of time,
Their purport not the Pearl of our desire.
Loved are these confines as immortal clime,
And dear the hearth-flame as the altar fire;
When fate accomplished wins her utmost bourne,
And fulness ousts for aye fair images,
Will doting mem'ry from their funeral pyre
Rise phoenix-wise and earth-sick spirits yearn
For fragrant flower, and sward, and changeful trees,
For storied rose, and sweet poetic morn,
For sound of bird, and brook, and murmuring bees,
For luckless fancies of illusion born,
What time in dark we dwelt and framed our lore?
Woe, woe, if then regretful we should mourn
"What wisdom left we on that human shore!"
For brooding kindness can a charm beget,
Not duly won, and from Heaven's parapet
These terrene colours shine with starry gleam--
But this is all a fable and a dream;
A fable, for this axiom it brings,
Immortal loves must love immortal things;
Dream is it, for uncurbed it took its flight,
And roamed afar, a fancy of the Night.