Dust on the page, from these forgetful years! I brush it off, to see the fading date Written in boyish hand; to find through tears The lad's dear name, inscribed with all the state...
But that one air for all that throng! And yet How wondrously the magic strain went through Those thousand hearts! I saw young eyes, that knew Only the fairest sights, grow dim and wet,...
Spare us, Lord, that last, that dreariest ill! Thy wrath's grim thunder, and thy lightning-scorn For our iniquity, that we have worn Soft as a grace, these, if it be thy will,...