Can I, who loved my Beloved
But for the "scorn was in her eye,"
Can I be moved for my Beloved,
When she "returns me sigh for sigh?"

5
In stately pride, by my bed-side,
High-born Helen's portrait's hung;
Deaf to my praise; my mournful lays
Are nightly to the portrait sung.

6
To that I weep, nor ever sleep,
Complaining all night long to her!
_Helen, grown old, no longer cold,
Said_, "You to all men I prefer."

Godwin returned from Wicklow the week before last, tho' he did not reach
home till the Sunday after. He might much better have spent that time
with you.--But you see your invitation would have been too late. He
greatly regrets the occasion he mist of visiting you, but he intends to
revisit Ireland in the next summer, and then he will certainly take
Keswick in his way. I dined with the Heathen on Sunday.

By-the-by, I have a sort of recollection that somebody, I think _you_,
promised me a sight of Wordsworth's Tragedy. I should be very glad of it
just now; for I have got Manning with me, and should like to read it
_with him_. But this, I confess, is a refinement. Under any
circumstances, alone in Cold Bath Prison, or in the desert island, just
when Prospero & his crew had set off, with Caliban in a cage, to Milan,