Marinda | ||
V.
And (as a Pilgrim spurr'dWith dear remembrance of his native Home,
Thro' Woods, o'er Mountains urges on his way)
I labour'd up the craggy Cliff, and strove
To reach the foremost, and to join the Choir
Of those, whose Song immortaliz'd their Names;
My force flagg'd under my ambitious Aims;
Nathless I still pursu'd my way, and robb'd
My Days of Quiet, and my Nights of Sleep,
In vain! That Bard whose Sight a drop serene
Had quench'd, or dim Suffusion veil'd, aspir'd
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And left me faint, and breathless, all behind.
Marinda | ||