"And weep not thus," he cried, "young Ellenor,
My bosom bleeds, but soon shall bleed no more!
Short shall this half-extinguish'd spirit burn,
And soon these limbs to kindred dust return!
But not, my child! with life's precarious fire,
The immortal ties of Nature shall expire;
These shall resist the triumph of decay,
When times is o'er, and worlds have pass'd away,
Cold in the dust this perish'd heart may lie,
But that which warm'd it once shall never die!
That spark unburied in its mortal frame,
With living light, eternal, and the same,
Shall beam on Joy's interminable years,
Unveil'd by darkness — unassuag'd by tears!