His heart was formed for softness—warped to wrong, 1830

Betrayed too early, and beguiled too long;

Each feeling pure—as falls the dropping dew

Within the grot—like that had hardened too;

Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials passed,

But sunk, and chilled, and petrified at last.[238]

Yet tempests wear, and lightning cleaves the rock;

If such his heart, so shattered it the shock.

There grew one flower beneath its rugged brow,

Though dark the shade—it sheltered—saved till now.

The thunder came—that bolt hath blasted both, 1840

The Granite's firmness, and the Lily's growth:

The gentle plant hath left no leaf to tell

Its tale, but shrunk and withered where it fell;

And of its cold protector, blacken round

But shivered fragments on the barren ground!