 | The Fall of the Leaf |  |
IX.
Then by the spring or fountain we would sit,All fring'd with moss; and in their bubbles read
The fate of heroes, who with rapture stride,
Lawless and rude—abhorring and abhorr'd—
From realm to realm, to find themselves a grave.
Oh! could'st thou look into a tyrant's heart,
Thou'd see a thousand signs of stripes and stabs,
Engrain'd in bloody characters. A tyrant?
I would not pay his penalty of state,
For all this pen could number in a year!
| The Fall of the Leaf | |