Festus A poem [by P. J. Bailey] |
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DEDICATION.
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
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| IX. |
| X. |
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| XX. |
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| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
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| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
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| XXXVII. |
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| XL. |
| XLI. |
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| XLV. |
 | Festus |  |
DEDICATION.
MY FATHER! unto thee to whom I oweAll that I am, all that I have and can;
Who madest me in thyself the sum of man
In all its generous aims and powers to know,
These first-fruits bring I; nor do thou forego
Marking when I the feat thus closed, began,
Which numbers now near three years from its plan,
Not twenty summers had embrowned my brow.
Life is at blood-heat every page doth prove.
Bear with it. Nature means Necessity.
If here be aught which thou canst love, it springs
Out of the hope that I may earn that love,
More unto me than immortality;
Or to have strung my harp with golden strings.
1839.
| Festus | |