CHAPTER 108
CHAPTER CVIII
CHAPTER 108Visible text2 paragraphs
Thy converse drew us with delight,
The men of rathe and riper years:
The feeble soul, a haunt of fears,
Forgot his weakness in thy sight.
The men of rathe and riper years:
The feeble soul, a haunt of fears,
Forgot his weakness in thy sight.
On thee the loyal-hearted hung,
The proud was half disarm'd of pride,
Nor cared the serpent at thy side
To flicker with his treble tongue.
The proud was half disarm'd of pride,
Nor cared the serpent at thy side
To flicker with his treble tongue.
