To The Countess Of Blessington.

1.     You have asked for a verse: - the request     In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny;     But my Hippocrene was but my breast,     And my feelings (its fountain) are dry. 2.     Were I now as I was, I had sung     What Lawrence has painted so well;[607]     But the strain would expire on my tongue,     And the theme is too soft for my shell. 3.     I am ashes where once I was fire,     And the bard in my bosom is dead;     What I loved I now merely admire,     And my heart is as grey as my head. 4.     My Life is not dated by years -     There are moments which act as a plough,     And there is not a furrow appears     But is deep in my soul as my brow. 5.     Let the young and the brilliant aspire     To sing what I gaze on in vain;     For Sorrow has torn from my lyre     The string which was worthy the strain.                 [First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, ii. 635, 636.]