Such modulation of impetuous wrath,

That what was scorn’d, now claims their tenderest care,

And arm’d in conscious worth they sally forth.

Aye, ever did thy just soul scorn the wrong,

’Twas only virtue lured thee thus astray;

How oft to goodness did’st thou wile the strong,

By young enticement’s headstrong, winning way,

Till all of theirs was thine, and thou could’st pour

At love’s high altar gifts of virgin ore.

{13}

{13}

XIII.

Young spirit, thou hast taught me what is joy,

And fathomed nature with a larger line;

How sweet to learn when nature’s powers deploy,

And o’er thy frame their dalliance combine:

Ye passions soothed to one unanimous end,

Thou concord breath’d through avenues of sound,

Witchery, ever winning, from its power to blend

Fancy’s light hints with intuition’s ground:

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