Book XIV.
After l. 372:
Well, then, it seems from fairy land we come
To this of truth! and this must be our home.
What can we do? the air is bleak and cold,
And all is dark and dull that we behold.
In that dear land, what views about us rose! }
Views dull and tedious our sad scenes disclose; }
How cold and languid these! how warm and sprightly those! }
There were Love’s friends—hope, joy, and generous trust:
Here are his foes—care, caution, and disgust.
There was the warm, confiding soul of youth,
Here doubt and care, and cold assent to truth.
Oh, ’tis beyond repair, beyond dispute,
That flower of promise has this bitter fruit!
Oh, ’tis a dismal fruit! I prithee strive
For the old prospect—bid the dream revive. (O.M.)