XXXV.

The hour of Fate comes on! and it is fraught With _this_ of Liberty, that now the need Is past to veil the brow of anxious thought, And clothe the heart, which still beneath must bleed, With Hope’s fair-seeming drapery. We are freed From tasks like these by misery: one alone Is left the brave, and rest shall be thy meed, Prince, watcher, wearied one! when thou hast shown How brief the cloudy space which parts the grave and throne.