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PART I. THERE was a youth who, as with toil and

travel, Had grown quite weak and grey before his

time; Nor any could the restless griefs unravel Which burned within him, withering up his

prime And goading him, like fiends, from land to

land. Not his the load of any secret crime,

For naught of ill his heart could understand,
But pity and wild sorrow for the same ;-
Not his the thirst for glory or command
Baffled with blast of hope-consuming shame; 10
Nor evil joys which fire the vulgar breast
And quench in speedy smoke its feeble flame,

Had left within his soul their dark unrest:
Nor what religion fables of the grave
Feared he,-Philosophy's accepted guest.

For none than he a purer heart could have,
Or that loved good more for itself alone;
Of naught in heaven or earth was he the


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What sorrow strange, and shadowy, and un

known, Sent him, a hopeless wanderer, through man

kind ?If with a human sadness he did groan,


He had a gentle yet aspiring mind;
Just, innocent, with varied learning fed ;
And such a glorious consolation find

In others' joy, when all their own is dead :
He loved, and laboured for his kind in grief,
And yet, unlike all others, it is said

That from such toil he never found relief;
Although a child of fortune and of power,
Of an ancestral name the orphan chief.:

His soul had wedded wisdom, and her dower
Is love and justice, clothed in which he sate
Apart from men, as in a lonely tower,

Pitying the tumult of their dark estate-
Yet even in youth did he not e'er abuse
The strength of wealth or thought, to con-


Those false opinions which the harsh rich use
To blind the world they famish for their

Nor did he hold from any man his dues,

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