 | The bridal of Vaumond |  |
III.
In sterner dignity uproseGonsalvo's form; where age's snows
For pity sue—yet awe inspire;
That lonely, widow'd, childless sire,
Whose heart pride would not break, and fed
The core on which remembrance prey'd,
That told of her, who all had been,—
Now worse than nought—of Imogen.
| The bridal of Vaumond | |