ROBERT BRIDGES

Ah ! little at best can all our hopes avail us

To lift this sorrow, or cheer us, when in the dark,

Unwilling, alone we embark,

And the things we have seen and have known and have heard of, fail us.

838. Pater Filio

OENSE with keenest edge unused, ^ Yet unsteel'd by scathing fire; Lovely feet as yet unbruised

On the ways of dark desire ; Sweetest hope that lookest smiling O'er the wilderness defiling !

Why such beauty, to be blighted By the swarm of foul destruction ?

Why such innocence delighted,

When sin stalks to thy seduction ?

All the litanies e'er chaunted

Shall not keep thy faith undaunted.

I have pray'd the sainted Morning To unclasp her hands to hold thee ;

From resignful Eve's adorning

Stol'n a robe of peace to enfold thee;

With all charms of man's contriving

Arm'd thee for thy lonely striving.

Me too once unthinking Nature,

Whence Love's timeless mockery took me, Fashion'd so divine a creature,

Yea, and like a beast forsook me. I forgave, but tell the measure Of her crime in thee, my treasure.

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