 | The Legend of St. Loy |  |
V.
“O thou, though in grey hermit-weeds,“Whose youth scarce life's first morn exceeds,
“Whose hands the beechen chalice bear,
“Moist with the balm to pale Despair,
“Vouchsafe a daughter of distress
“With that salubrious lymph to bless!
“Give me to drink the healing wave,
“My wearied lips with health to lave —
“So may my current-frozen blood
“Be, haply, by the genial flood,
“To vital motion wrought again! —
“And, if my prayer I may obtain,
“This offering to St. Loy I give,
“And, oh, the humble boon receive!
“No Lady, howe'er great or high,
103
“Accept this Purse — scant though it be,
“Know, 'tis of more a prophecy.”
| The Legend of St. Loy | |